


Prisoner of Love

by Jaye_Voy



Category: Hercules: The Legendary Journeys, Xena: Warrior Princess
Genre: Adult Content, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Non-Consensual Bondage, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-17
Updated: 2016-04-22
Packaged: 2018-06-02 21:46:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 27,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6583741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaye_Voy/pseuds/Jaye_Voy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The aftermath of Serena's murder takes an unexpected turn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Note 1: Set after the "Hercules: The Legendary Journeys" episode "Judgment Day", where Ares plotted the cold-blooded murder of Hercules' wife, Serena, and Strife carried it out. This is AU, and Serena will stay dead (that is, there will be no reset of the later episode "The End of the Beginning"). 
> 
> Note 2: According to my check of Greek mythology (and I think this is reflected in the "Hercules" series), Ares is the god of the brutality of war, who backs whichever warlord will cause the most carnage. (Apparently Athena was the goddess of the just war, and she was the one most soldiers prayed and sacrificed to.)
> 
> Note 3: It seems some fics in this fandom assume that Ares is Cupid's father. That is not the case here, nor does it seem to be canon. Mythology offers quite a few possible parentages for Cupid/Eros (fathered by Hermes, Hephaestus, Ares, Zeus, or none of the above), so I'm going with the one that has Aphrodite rising from the foam already pregnant---the male and female aspects of Love created simultaneously.
> 
> Note 4: As far as I can find online, Strife never had a specific godhood. (He seemed to be trying to get Ares to give him one in "Judgment Day".) Ares' opinion of Strife is based on the belittling he usually indulged in, and the eulogy he offered in "Armageddon Now, Part 1": "[Strife] tried hard, but he was just no good at his job."
> 
> Originally written in 2008. Although there are some tweaks, the story's contents (and its flaws) are mostly intact.  
> Characters from the Hercules/Xena universe and all related concepts are the property of Renaissance et al. No infringement is intended or profit made. This is NC-17 for adult themes, sex, and language.

The dawn sky above Greece was a wash of palest blue unmarred by clouds, as close to perfection as the gods could fashion. The darkness would come from the mood---and the purpose---of the company gathering.

The late home of Hercules and Serena was the designated meeting place, chosen as much for irony as secrecy. For if those two still dwelled there, mortal but content, this unlikely collection of gods would not have been called together.

Or so Hades thought, as he stared into the cold hearth, a slab of gray amidst the timber-and-plaster walls of the room. Chunks of wood rested within, waiting for kindling and flint, for food to be cooked, bread baked, and water heated. For life to go on.

But there was only death here. And soon, perhaps, a nascent form of justice.

He turned as he sensed the others begin to arrive. First were Hephaestus, strong but scarred; Aphrodite, lush curves clad in flowing pink; and Psyche, the Goddess of the Mind clinging tight to Aphrodite's arm as they coalesced. Hades offered Psyche a small smile of reassurance---she reminded him of his own beloved Persephone when they first joined. Wide eyes and vital dark-haired beauty, the same combination of growing power and waning uncertainty.

Rumors---ever swifter than Hermes---had told the tale of Psyche's comeliness and Cupid's curse. It was Hercules, Hades recalled, who had persuaded Aphrodite to accept Psyche in the pantheon and in Cupid's life. What was not known was the reason Cupid and Psyche had not wed. So far as Hades knew, they had stayed together only long enough for their son Bliss to be conceived, quietly parting long before the godling's birth.

And though his curiosity was piqued, he would refrain from prying questions. No one would be able to say that the Lord of Tartarus had discovered an appetite for gossip. Persephone herself would be far too smug to learn her constant chatter had had such a pernicious influence on her "stodgy" mate. Still, he wondered.

"Thanks for joining the brainstorming," Aphrodite said, but her smile held not the radiance she was known for since her marriage to Hephaestus. That reassured Hades---it seemed Hercules' heartbreak had brought Aphrodite the sobriety needed for this grim business.

"Of course." His time with Persephone was limited, true, but without Hercules they would never have been together at all. How could he not react to the callous destruction of Hercules' own happiness? As if the thought had conjured her, Persephone appeared beside him, immediately lifting his arm to press herself to his side. He stroked his hand down her back to settle at her waist, offering what comfort he could. She was young, so young, and even with the months spent in Hades' realm unused to such dark tragedy. She was his shining light, one he hoped would never dim.

"Cupid is not joining us?" he asked the trio. He thought the God of Love would be the first to avenge an uncle he regarded so highly, and a love so cruelly shredded to grief.

"He's with Bliss," Psyche said, eyes flicking around before resting on her sandal-shod toes. "He doesn't think it's fair to punish Strife alone when Ares was behind it all."

More flashes heralded Artemis and Athena. Their lean bodies and shrewd features as ever eerily alike, down to the piercing eyes gifted by their father. Artemis sported her usual rough garments fashioned of leather, while Athena had set aside her customary robes for the skirted armor that proclaimed her Goddess of War as well as Wisdom.

Morpheus was next, his corpse-white face and night-black eyes rarely seen in daylight or the mortal realm. Hades shared a brief nod with the God of Dreams. He knew Morpheus was stricken by the part he unwittingly played in Serena's demise. He'd been persuaded to play a trick on Hercules, to taunt him with scenes of violence that had befuddled the demi-god's sleeping mind. What Morpheus had thought was a harmless prank had turned into a plot. And turned Morpheus into a pawn.

Hades caught his breath at the last arrival: Hera. The shock of her appearance was reflected in all faces but Aphrodite's. Hera's lips quirked as she regarded her fellow conspirators, but then she frowned. "I may not approve of my husband's meddling bastard, and I don't want to hear a word about what happened to Daenera and her brats. Just know I have rights and duties here as Goddess of Marriage---and Motherhood."

Psyche's wince was echoed by them all. So in one stroke Hercules had lost his wife and his unborn child. Hades was glad that Hercules had not known, could not know---that extra load of guilt would no doubt break even the strongest of men.

Hades lifted a brow as he looked to Artemis and Athena. "What motive brings you here?" So far as he knew they were as indifferent to Hercules' existence as they were to the rest of Zeus's by-blows scattered throughout Greece.

"The Hind was a creature of the woodland and a member of a sisterhood not unlike the Amazons---she was mine by right. And Ares knew it," Artemis growled, teeth bared, looking ready to grab bow and knife and hunt the War God.

"Psyche bid me come---if this enterprise is bound by one God of War, another cannot so easily sunder it." The explanation was delivered in Athena's usual measured tones, but the nod of approval she gave Psyche suggested Athena was pleased with the newest deity of Intellect.

"OK folks, time to get the heads in revenge mode," Aphrodite said with a sharp clap of her hands. She settled her fists on her hips, looking at each god with a gimlet eye. "We know Zeus said keep our hands off Ares 'cause he was all behind the scenes, but Strife is ripe for some butt-kicking."

"We may not be permitted to attack Ares directly," Artemis protested, leaning into the rough circle the gods had formed in the clear space before the hearth. "But is there *nothing* we can do in the face of his arrogance? Think how long he kept the secret of the Hind from us---and what he might have done with her blood if Hercules had not stumbled upon her."

"I have told Ares I will make no more weapons for him unless commanded by Zeus himself," Hephaestus replied with a shrug. "If nothing else, he must humble himself to beg his father for new toys."

"Thank you, Hephy," Aphrodite purred as she wrapped hands around his bicep, snuggling into him with a slight pout on her lips. "But she's right, I feel like we should do more...y'know, maybe make Ares do his own dirty work? 'Cause Strife is like this total bootlicker, he does every little thing Ares wants."

"I second that," Artemis chimed in with a vigorous nod. "Let us remove that arrow from Ares' quiver---permanently." She looked to Athena. "Can you dismiss him from the House of War?"

"No...the Fates have decreed that Strife can only be removed from War by his own volition." Athena's eyes had narrowed in thought as she folded her arms, slender fingers cradling her chin. "His leaving seems an unlikely thing---after all, Discord named her son for her ambitions, and Strife can only live up to that name in the House of War."

Her lips pursed. "And yet the Fates have said his future turns on a real choice. There are two paths before him, but only one will lead to a godhood that Zeus has already approved. But if Strife does make the choice to leave Ares' service, Ares will forever lose any claim to him."

"And even if Ares protests, it seems unlikely that Zeus will accommodate him," murmured Morpheus, the hollowness of a yawn echoing in his voice.

"Cool," Aphrodite said with a nod. "So...what about Leather Boy?" She released Hephaestus as she straightened for her declaration. "I think we should zap him with a love spell."

Persephone stirred in the circle of Hades' arm, curly hair sliding across her shoulders as her head tilted and her features crinkled in puzzlement. "Wait, so you want Cupid to zing him or something?"

"No, Sweet Cheeks, much more than that." Aphrodite stretched her hand out, palm cupped, and a faint pink mist began to dance upon it. "In every unclaimed heart there's a place for a potential mate...I want Strife to zone out on the love jones. Whoever lives in his most secret heart of hearts is going to become his one and only."

Artemis cupped her hand over Aphrodite's a moment, and when she retreated the mist had darkened a shade toward red. "He will be like a hound on the scent, unable to resist the lure of love."

"He will seek to woo and wed his love, and he will be forever faithful," Hera's hand advanced and withdrew, adding blue so the mist swirled deep purple in Aphrodite's palm.

Psyche took her turn, fingers trembling as she said, "And Strife's mind will be clear---he cannot deceive, even himself." Her touch lightened the mist to lavender.

"His dreams will show him Hercules' pain, and his own crime," Morpheus intoned as a thread of gray drifted from his hand to join the dance.

"Let no other seek to unset this spell, under the punishment of the Fates themselves, so say we gods and goddesses here," Athena said as she lifted a hand that glowed gold.

Hades waited for Persephone, and their black and green entered the mist together. Hephaestus' flame-orange was the last.

Aphrodite nodded and closed her other hand over the now multi-colored mist. "May this spell stay in place until Strife truly understands what it means to love." When her hands parted there was a flash and the mist was gone.

"It's done," Hera announced and departed in her own flash.

"I just hope whoever Strife sets his eyes on will be able to handle him," Persephone said, chewing her lip in that way that made Hades want to nibble it himself.

"Strife has no godhood, and Ares is stingy with his power," Athena reassured her. "I can't think of an Olympian who couldn't take him down if needed."

"And I don't think he's into girl and boy toys from Earth," Aphrodite added, molding her curves to Hephaestus's muscles once more. "Thanks for the assist, folks." Hephaestus was the one to clasp Psyche's hand before they all dissolved into mists that swiftly dissipated, orange, pink, and white.

Hades nodded his agreement as he tightened his hold on Persephone. "It will all work out, beloved, you'll see." When she turned more fully into his embrace, he closed his eyes and rested his chin atop her head. Then sent them from this place of sadness to the home she'd made for them in his realm, and in his heart.


	2. Chapter 2

Strife lurched to sitting, left hand pressed tight to his bare chest as he struggled to breathe above the rapid pounding of his heart. Looked like Morpheus had finally picked a payback. "Fuck."

Figured Strife was in the shit---Ares was probably sweet in dreams of blood as far as the eye could see. Didn't matter that Ares was the one who'd laid out the plan to put Hercules permanently out of the hero biz. Strife was the one who'd convinced Morpheus that it'd be fun to tweak Hercules' sleep. So Strife was the one the big M would be smacking down.

"Fuck." Strife lifted his other hand to confirm its trembling. He couldn't remember the dream, but it must've been a doozy to leave him feeling so...weird. "Weird even for *him*," as Ares would say. His gaze drifted around his bedroom, taking in the heavy blood-red drapes framing windows that were just narrow wall-slits, the ebony furniture decorated with carvings fashioned like the muzzles of snarling wolves.

There's no way this was gonna fly---'specially considering who he was picturing on the black-sheeted bed. He snickered. Nah, he was gonna have to go to some other digs to get down and dirty. Plus nobody but nobody would do the horizontal in a temple where Ares wasn't getting any---not if ya wanted to keep yer balls attached to yer bod and *not* on fire.

Strife snorted and shook his head, sliding to his feet and suiting up in his favorite leather-and-metal combo with the wave of a hand. He snapped up and gulped down a quick shot of ambrosia, tossed aside the goblet, then zapped himself to Stop Number 1 on the Catch Cupid List.

A blink later and he was waving his hand to light the torches set in sconces deep in a storage room in Hephaestus's forge. Or really, a storage *cave* that Heph used to hide his not-so-much-the-success stories. Strife rubbed his hands together as he looked over the bits of metal propped against the walls or set carefully in opened chests arranged around the room. Trust Heph to keep even his junk drawer nice an' neat. Strife picked a pile at random and started digging.

And...there...they...were! Strife made a little sound of glee as he lifted his prize, catching flickers of torchlight along their shining lengths.

Hephaestus never knew that the old man he poured out his drunken troubles to all those years ago was Strife in disguise. Strife'd been at the inn to stir up some trouble, and ended up with a blind-drunk Fire God dropping into his lap---literally. Strife had listened as Heph whined and moaned about how much he loved Aphrodite but was sure she'd never take a second look at his ugly mug...

A tickle of uncertainty made Strife shake his head, frowning a little as he lowered his hand and stared at the silvery pieces in his grip. Five metal bands, intricately etched with a pattern of vines in full leaf. All of the circles were incomplete, four the same size and one larger one. It shone in the dimness, just waitin' to be snapped around an unsuspecting neck. Even more powerful than Hephaestus's throne, any god ensnared would lose access to their powers and be hidden from the other gods until the one who'd closed the collar ordered their release.

Strife stroked a fingertip along a pattern. Pity about the silvery look---gold was a far better accent to Cupid's whole blond Sex/Love God thing. Still, Strife would take what he could get.

At the thought of getting---and taking---he sniggered and disappeared, the only sign of his visit the lit torches and a few items left spilling from one of Hephaestus's chests.

***************

Cupid sighed and hefted his son higher in his arms, staring into eyes the echo of Psyche's ocean blue. "Do you want Mommy?"

Bliss shook his head as he wrapped chubby toddler arms tight around Cupid's neck, miniature wings flapping once in emphasis. When Cupid was released he cradled Bliss close, dropping a kiss onto honey-brown curls sheened golden by the morning light. "Then what's all the fuss about?" The little guy'd been a perfect godling through his wake-up playtime, breakfast, and morning wash.

"Wan' this," Bliss leaned up, wiggling his linen-wrapped bottom in Cupid's hands as he plucked at the leather straps criss-crossing Cupid's chest. "Look li' you, Daddy."

Cupid's heart did the little flip it always did when he heard that word from Bliss's innocent lips. He circled away from the closed chest where he'd laid a fresh chiton for Bliss, sinking onto a backless chair near Bliss's high-sided bed. The deep brown cushions and mahogany frames complemented the ochre walls and marble floors, toys and clothes packed neatly in flat-topped chests, the green of trees and plants scattered throughout. "You're too young for leather, honey."

Like Cupid himself, Bliss had gone from newborn to cherub in the blink of an eye. It certainly made life easier---Cupid had been dreading letting Psyche keep Bliss full-time to nurse---but it also meant that Cupid had to deal with Bliss's strong opinions. And occasional temper tantrums. He winced as Bliss's face scrunched up as he started to wail, tiny fists waving and mouth wide enough to show his baby teeth. "Waaant---waaan'---waaan'---"

"OK, OK," Cupid said as he jiggled Bliss to break the rhythm of his screams. "How about I look like you instead?" He stood and with a thought traded his usual leather kilt and trousers for a loincloth and knee-length sleeveless chiton, a bronze clasp fastening the outer layer of thick white fabric at one shoulder. The loose side was folded under, leaving his other shoulder and a bit of his chest bare. He'd gone with a simple rope belt, and opted for sandals instead of his usual boots.

"How's this?" Cupid actually didn't mind making the change. It brought back memories of cloth flapping about his thighs as he dashed through the rooms of Aphrodite's temple---or flew away to the mountains when he could escape his mother's not-so-watchful eye. Plus he could always switch to his regular gear once Bliss was settled with the Nymphs and Muses for the day.

Bliss agreed with a pleased hum and another wriggle, clapping his hands and spreading his wings as Cupid shifted Bliss to lay along his forearm, swooping Bliss through the air as he walked back to the chest that held Bliss's own outfit.

He spread the neck of the chiton on the chest lid and set Bliss's feet within the circle. A quick lift of cloth, clasp of the shoulder pieces and knotting of the belt and Bliss was dressed. Cupid picked him up again and sat on the chest with Bliss in his lap to fasten the little sandals, laughing as Bliss kicked out in their daily battle over footwear.

"Gotcha!" He carefully gripped one tiny heel, leaning down to plant a kiss on Bliss's instep before sliding on the sandal and tying it closed. Bliss giggled and leaned into Cupid's stomach, sucking his thumb as Cupid gave the other foot the same treatment. As Cupid began to straighten, he paused and ducked his head close to Bliss's. "Love you," he whispered. The mess with Psyche had been more like MESS---Most Excruciatingly Stupid Shit he'd landed in *ever*, but having Bliss made it totally OK. Well, kinda.

Bliss abandoned his thumb. "Love you," he echoed, eyes crossing as he peered up, hands patting at Cupid's chest once more.

Cupid gave Bliss's forehead a smacking kiss, then stood and swung Bliss over his head, holding him there while Bliss squealed in delight, waving his limbs and flapping his wings. "You'll be flying solo in no time." Cupid wasn't so sure that was a good thing---Bliss was enough of a handful stuck on the ground. He lowered his arms and shifted his grip on Bliss, lifting the lid of another chest and fishing out a carved wooden Pegasus he gave Bliss to hold. He closed the lid and prepared to zap them to the grove where Bliss would be parked while Cupid was working.

The next moment Cupid was sitting on the chest, holding Bliss tight and rocking away from an attack by---Strife? "Strife?" Cupid automatically checked Bliss was OK, then noticed the cold weight of metal lying on his own bared collarbone and neck. He lifted a hand to touch fingertips to the...necklace? collar? He swayed slightly, trembling. Something didn't feel right. But his temple was warded against anyone, god or mortal, giving off the bad-guy vibe...

Cupid knew Aphrodite was planning some payback against Strife for the murder of Serena---so why would Strife come after *him*? "Strife, what's going on---what happened?"

"Nothin'. Like the new/old look, sorta retro," Strife replied before darting in and slapping another band of metal on Cupid---this time on his left wrist. As Cupid stared the ends flowed toward each other to form a solid circle. Just like...Fuck!

Cupid shot to his feet, Bliss gathered in the crook of one arm and the other reaching out to banish Strife from Cupid's temple. Nothing...*nothing*. He staggered back, bumping his calves on the edge of the chest. "Hephaestus made these."

"Yeah babe," Strife said with a shrug as his fingers flipped and wiggled the three other bands, their gleam drawing Bliss's rapt attention and Cupid's morbid fascination. "Needed some insurance."

He leaned in, voice dropping. "Couldn't have ya blastin' me into a wall or anythin', not with the kidlet here." Cupid shivered at the hot breath on his ear.

Cupid was determined not to panic. Could. Not. Panic. Not with a very young and impressionable Bliss as an audience. He slid away from Strife, carrying Bliss back to the bed and depositing him on it. Bliss scrambled up to standing and clung to the edge with his free hand, rising on tiptoe to peer at Strife and then looking up at Cupid, seeming unsure whether to cry or laugh at their surprise visitor. Cupid smiled down at him, stroking his fingertips down Bliss's back. "Say hello to Cousin Strife."

" 'lo," Bliss said, then loosed his grip on the frame to point. "Leaver." With a flap of wings he plunked onto his bottom and began playing with his toy.

Cupid's lips curved ruefully---he was *so* not raising a godling with a leather fetish. But the thought helped keep his expression calm as he shifted to look at his cousin. He hadn't really seen much of Strife over the years, Love and War usually operating in very different venues. Strife was as he always seemed, sort of thin, sort of spastic, moon-pale skin covered in leather and metal, black bangs flopping over the squared ridge of his brow. Even the manic gleam of the pale blue eyes was familiar---just never directed at *him*, before now. "Strife, what did Aphrodite do to you?"

The bands stopped moving but the flash of metal continued as Strife's decorations and piercings caught the light as he shrugged. "Haven't seen the pink power in...whenever."

"That's impossible---*something* must've set you off." Cupid's eyes narrowed as he watched Strife fidget. He muttered under his breath, "And you obviously came to find me in particular...some kind of spell gone wrong, I guess..." He straightened his shoulders and raised his voice. "Strife, I need you to call my mother and Hephaestus. They'll be able to tell us how to undo whatever stunt she's pulled."

"Nuh-uh, babe." Strife tossed a band and caught it. "Y'ain't listenin'. Nobody did anything to anybody, anytime, anywhere. Got it?" He eyed Cupid. "Must be true what they say about blonds and brains..."

Cupid bristled at the insult, wings lifting, but remembered that until he got the necklace/collar off he was essentially helpless. "Would you please just call them?" It couldn't hurt to try... "For me?"

"Well..." Strife settled into a way-too-smug pose, hip thrust out, arms crossed, leering at Cupid and rubbing his thumb along the bands. "I suppose I *could*...if you'll do something for me first."

"Uh, what?" Cupid was a little afraid of the answer. He shot a look at the thankfully-still-oblivious Bliss.

Strife rolled his eyes. "Sheesh, Cupid, it's not like I'm gonna pull anythin' like that with the little eyes and ears *right here*." That only reassured Cupid for a moment before Strife was giving him a particularly happy---uh-oh---grin as Strife lifted his hand and waved the bands in the air. "Ya get suited up with the rest of yer jewelry."

Cupid resisted for a single breath, then his wings and shoulders drooped as he held out his right arm. Whatever these bands did, he *had* to get some other god involved.

Strife's chuckle held a childlike note of glee as he bounded forward and quickly fastened a circlet to Cupid's wrist, then knelt to reach Cupid's ankles. When Strife was done, he looked up with a surprisingly serene smile. "Don't worry, babe."

Cupid knew his answering smile was shaky at best. He felt...disjointed, disconnected. He'd never *not* known the subtle flow of power in his veins, an endless current just waiting for his will to gather it into a bitchin' wave of Love...

Strife's summons must've been silent---or Cupid too distracted to hear it---'cause shimmers of pink and orange morphed into Aphrodite and Hephaestus. Heph took one look at Cupid's neck and went pale beneath his fire-flushed skin. "No..." Heph's horrified whisper did *not* help Cupid's cool.

"Look Strife, we can't unzap you so why don't you just..." Aphrodite's eyes darted around, then went wide. "Oh sh---" She saw Bliss's bed. "Shooooot." She looked at Strife, then Cupid, and her face went just a little green. Which pretty much zoomed up Cupid's just-not-gonna-call-it-panic, seeing how the shade clashed with pink.

Cupid kept his voice very calm and reasonable, like he wasn't *this close* to a total freak out. "Mom, what's up with Strife? And Heph, can you, like, spring me? Please?"

Shit. Aphrodite went greener, Heph paler. Cupid shifted, very conscious of his new metalwear. "Um, help?"

Hephaestus shuffled his feet, glanced around. Seemed...embarrassed, and he kept shooting scared looks at Aphrodite. Pretty much acting like the anti-Heph. Finally he cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, Cupid, but I can't---I can't remove the bands." He jerked his chin at Strife. "Only he can."

Strife's smug smile and Aphrodite's mad face didn't last too long as Heph lifted a hand to rub the back of his neck. "And, uh, there's more..."

Cupid seriously did not want to know---but had to ask. "What?"

"There's a...well, there's a certain...compulsion..." Heph sighed and spit it out. "You and Strife will have to share passion at some point at least once before each new dawn, or both partners will feel the effect of abstinence."

Aphrodite looked *way* too interested. "Oooh, kinky."

"Mom!" Cupid could not *believe* her sometimes.

"What, a girl can't be turned on?" Aphrodite bumped one hip into Heph's. "You got any more fun toys I don't know about?"

Heph's red cheeks told their own story, but Cupid really didn't have time for it. "Could we *please* get back to the here and now and crisis mode? Mom, what's going on with Strife?"

Strife had gone a little glazed at Heph's info, but he jerked up again, eyes slitting and doing a passable wannabe-War-God glower. "Ya mean the Wingman wasn't talkin' out his killer ass?"

Aphrodite shook her head, probably getting herself out of the Love vibe and back to business. "Hephy babe, give Strife a how-to on that kinkwear he's got on Cupid---and let him know how really cool it'd be if he'd take it *off*."

She then grabbed Cupid's arm and dragged him around Bliss's bed---stopping to drop a "Hi Honey" and a quick kiss on Bliss's curls. When she reached a corner of the room she dropped Cupid's arm. "I'm really really sorry, sweetie." Both hands fluttered around, gauze flapping. "I mean, yeah, he was supposed to go seeking love but I never figured he'd jump right to the capital L, y'know?"

Cupid lifted a hand to massage his temple, saw the flash of metal and quickly dropped it to his side. "What exactly is this spell supposed to do?"

"Teach him a lesson." Aphrodite counted the points out on her well-manicured fingers. "Obsess on the one and only, be unable to resist, do the forsaking all others, try to get a ring on your finger---" Her eyes flicked to the bracelets a moment. "Truth and nothing but the truth, really really bad dreams, no removing the spell 'til he's all boned up on the book of Love."

Cupid's wings flicked in and out as he paced in a small circle, frowning at the situation---and his part in it. He stopped, crossing his arms. "So there's *no way* to get him to back off, or pick somebody else, or something?"

"Well, I suppose we could all get back together and *try* to peel the spell off him..." Aphrodite looked over to where Strife and Hephaestus were still talking. Heph had his palms spread and Strife's head was shaking an emphatic "No". "But Strife's not, like, the strongest god on Olympus."

She shot a glance at Cupid, and he was surprised to see worry starting little potential wrinkles on her brow. Her voice lowered. "I'm not totally sure what would be left."

Cupid sighed, and ignored the flash of metal this time to rub the back of his neck. "Then I guess we'd better try to keep this quiet. I don't really wanna deal with a rumble in the temple, y'know?" And he *really* didn't want any of the other gods popping in to laugh at what an easy catch he'd turned out to be.

Aphrodite reached out to rest a hand on his arm. "Are you gonna be OK?"

"I'll be fine." Cupid wasn't sure he believed it, but what else was he supposed to say when his mom looked like she was gonna lose it herself with the guilt and all. "Just---nothing in the spell said *I* had to love him back, right?"

"Nah, we didn't want to make it like Mission Impossible. You just need to show him the Love ropes---soon as he catches a clue he'll be back to normal and you'll be home free." Aphrodite shifted closer and her grip tightened. "Can you handle Heph's little anti-chastity-belt clause...y'know, after the whole Psyche thing?"

"Yeah, whatever." Cupid did *not* want to talk about *that*. "I mean, it's not like I don't know how." He shrugged and pulled free. "I guess it'll be like you were before Heph---but y'know, just with Strife."

"Yeah, he doesn't seem to be the sharing type." Aphrodite took his arm again and started leading him back to where it looked like the other two were wrapping things up---Heph had his arms folded and Strife was nodding. "Do you want Heph and me to take Bliss until all this..." She trailed off, a wave of a gauze-covered arm finishing her thought.

"No, I don't want Bliss upset." That was non-negotiable, as far as Cupid was concerned. "Who knows how long it'll take for Strife to like, get with the Love. Let's just stick with the usual days you see Bliss. If I need more of a break I'll let Psyche know."

"Actually, Cupid, you'll need to let Dite or me know," Hephaestus corrected. "And we'll pass on the message. Oh, and since you're keeping Bliss, Strife is going to stay here with you, so the little one won't have to deal with someplace unfamiliar."

Heph stepped forward and laid a warm palm on Cupid's neckband. Cupid didn't feel anything happen, but when Heph stepped back there was a leaf-shaped pendant hanging from it. "That'll let you call us, Cupid---and let you hear Bliss if he calls you."

Heph sighed, head lowering. "It was the best I could do. Strife's not budging on removing any of the hardware."

Cupid gave him a shrug and a half-smile, ignoring Strife for the moment. "Thanks for trying."

He leaned in and gave Heph a quick hug. Relaxed when he felt a strong hand cradle his nape and Heph's lips on his forehead as Heph murmured, "Call. For anything, even just to talk. Good luck."

Cupid's wings shifted and he was blinking a little mist out of his eyes as he was released. He turned to Aphrodite, gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and a little push. "It'll be fine." He sounded way more convinced than he was.

Aphrodite moved into the circle of Heph's arm, but she was showing her Mad Mama face to Strife. "You hurt my baby or *his* baby and you'll be in Tartarus so fast your ass will need icing." She and Heph disappeared in a flash.

Cupid sighed and stared at his new roommate.


	3. Chapter 3

Strife let himself relax now that the older gods were gone---he hadn't thought about it at the time, but yeah, it figured they'd be a little pissed he'd bagged the Wingman. Still, he'd come out of it with his hide intact. "So what's the plan?"

Cupid just plopped down onto a chair next to Bliss's bed and put his hands over his eyes. Strife gave him a once-over: Dude was lookin' *fine*. True the chiton was doin' some cover up top, but those golden calves were *never* on display. Yeah, he could do some worship...

He twitched when Cupid suddenly dropped his hands and launched to his feet with, "Right...right. I guess first up is dropping Bliss off and then I need to get to my temple in Athens and deal with the prayer scrolls for the day."

Cupid looked at Strife, and Strife weirdly wanted to sigh at the perfect blend of green-brown-gold in those big long-lashed eyes under that perfect blond hair in that perfect heart-shaped face with those perfect cheekbones and that perfect nose and those perfect heart-shaped lips...that were moving and now not moving and frowning at him. "What?"

"I said, I'm not going to be able to get around on my own." Cupid gave him another frown. "Do I need to call somebody for a lift?" 

"Nah, nah, I'll handle it." Strife wriggled to make sure all his leather was layin' just right. "You gonna grab Bird Boy?"

"Yeah." Cupid leaned over and scooped up Bliss, rubbing noses with him as the little guy giggled and flapped his wings. "You all ready to go see what the Nymphs and Muses are doing?"

Bliss blew out a breath, and then turned and leaned his head on Cupid's chest, wide, curious eyes on Strife. Strife had to catch himself from sidling away---it was just a *kid*, for Zeus's sake. "Runnin' around all day with that pack of pretties---what a lucky little godling you are!"

He sniggered when Bliss's face scrunched up. "No?" he asked, leaning down to put his hand on one tiny shoulder and murmur, "Well maybe you just need a visit from Cousin Strife to liven things up, huh?"

"Strife!" Cupid practically snatched Bliss out of Strife's loose hold. "You are *not* going to be teaching him any of your pranks."

"Sheesh, Cupid, I always knew you were kinda stuck up, but who rammed that giant stick up your a---butt." At the flare of Cupid's nostrils Strife automatically put his hands out, doin' the whole "simmer down" thing that, really, had never ever worked on Ares. "Fine, we'll just pop over, drop him off, *whatever*." He muttered to himself, "And I thought your mom was high-maintenance..."

Cupid growled at him---actually *growled* at him. And his cheeks were lookin' flushed and his wings had spread just a little bit and were vibratin'. Damn, it was hot. Strife shifted his leather a little more, thinkin' he might not be able to wear it so tight from now on. "OK, sorry, sorry, all right?" He stepped up to get that bod in his arms, barely rememberin' not to squish Bliss between 'em. "Let's go."

************************************************************

Cupid pushed away from Strife the second they materialized in Cupid's Athens temple. "Thanks," he muttered as he moved toward the already-large-enough pile of scrolls upon the main altar. Flowers, goblets with jugs of water and wine, a saucer of olive oil and plates of bread, cheese, nuts, olives and ripe fruits were arranged neatly in the center, edges gleaming metal and mellow wood.

Light spilled through the open doorway to the antechamber and from the windows, brightening the unadorned marble. The pale shade of the stone made the piles of pillows and plush-cushioned reclining couches in golds, reds, and purples more vivid. Cupid let himself soak in the familiar surroundings. It was peaceful here, with plants, gracefully carved tables, and decorative urns sharing space with braziers and lamps scattered about the room, though most of them were unlit in the bright day and mild weather.

He shook his head and moved his shoulders and wings slightly, trying to ease tense muscles, still unused to the "muffled" feeling the bands produced. It had been odd, having Strife's leather-clad arms encircling him as they popped in and out of the glade to drop off Bliss and transport into Athens. He looked to where Strife was still standing in a clear area, a crow on a sand dune. "Do you want anything---to eat or drink?"

The specifics were definitely necessary, going by the leer that crossed Strife's face. Cupid found himself tensing again at the predatory look---he was certainly aware that Strife was dangerous. And expectant.

Well, Cupid could put off the inevitable for quite some time. He moved over to the dozen scrolls and picked them up. "These are gonna take me awhile." He chose a pile of cushions and sank down upon them, grimacing as he realized he would have to actually get up and walk over to the altar if he wanted anything. This being powerless thing was gonna get real old, real fast.

" 'S'okay, I can wait." Strife plopped down right next to him. "Nice digs."

Cupid watched Strife stretch out, one hand oh-so-casually flopping down on Cupid's knee. Cupid shifted a little to get out of range. "Thanks. I'll admit I was kinda glad when I finally got my own places...Mom's just a little too much with the pink."

He grinned at Strife's shudder and snicker of agreement. Cupid sank back into the pillows, setting aside all but one of the scrolls. "So...are you, um, is Ares gonna be doing the formal introduction to the pantheon and mortals and all?" Sheesh, this was awkward. "Like, what godhood are you gonna get for uh, y'know..."

"Nothin'." Strife lurched forward to hunch over bent knees, and Cupid barely kept from leaping out of range. Apparently he was *way* more jumpy than usual. Good thing Strife was too busy brooding to notice, since he was still grumbling. "He said the deal was to get *Herc* to Tartarus too, so when Zeus and Xena stepped in for the rescue..." He shrugged, picking at a row of metal studs adorning one lean, leather-clad thigh.

Now what was Cupid supposed to say to *that*? "Bummer" wouldn't exactly be appropriate, and he was nowhere near stupid enough to gloat with "Serves you right."

And he really didn't understand what drove Strife to do it---what it was like to *be* Strife. Pretty much a nobody hanging on Ares' ankle, as far as both gods and mortals knew. Cupid had never had to go without---he'd had a godhood from the moment he'd been born. *His* problem was that a lot of mortals still envisioned him as the cherub he'd been, unable or unwilling to see he was all kick-ass and grown-up now. It meant some of the folks who really wanted *his* help ended up in Aphrodite's temples, figuring the God and Goddess of Love were always in sync and joined at the hip. As if.

Cupid shifted on the cushions, tilting his head and thinking how *young* Strife looked at that moment. "I'm kinda relieved."

"Huh?" Strife's head swiveled to look at Cupid, eyes wide and the blue of mountain snow at twilight. Although Cupid suddenly noticing *that* was just bizarre.

"Well, you did murder Serena, Strife. It would be major creepy if *that* was the reason you finally got a place in the pantheon." He shrugged. "Just seems like it doesn't exactly scream 'approachable'."

Strife grunted, dark brows drawing together as he started picking at his clothing again. "Gods of War aren't supposed to do 'approachable'." His face hardened. "Not everybody jumps on the Love chariot, Cupid---we're all about *fear*."

"Athena's not," Cupid pointed out. "She's War and she's *loved*, and worshiped by, like, everybody."

"But she's not *just* War." Strife slewed around, going to his knees as he got into Cupid's space. Then he paused and his face got a calculating look. Not sly; like he was really figuring something out. "Uh, wait, she *is* 'just War'---the Goddess of Just War." His brow furrowed and he seemed to wilt a little. "She ain't scramblin' around with the battlefield scum tryin' to up the body count."

"Exactly." Cupid leaned in too, using his free hand to poke emphasis. "So it's not like it's got to be all blood and guts, all the time, y'know?"

Suddenly Strife's hand was on top of Cupid's, pressing it against Strife's chest, leather and studded metal setting Cupid's palm to tingling. He glanced up and found Strife's face a fingerwidth from his own. Cupid jerked his hand free and scooted back. "That's all I'm sayin'."

***************

Strife could see the sidelong glance Cupid cast his way but ignored it. That little tickle was back, and it made him want to stick a twig right through his eyeball if it let him scratch the annoying itch.

Cupid finally gave up and unrolled the scroll in his other hand. He groaned, giving Strife very naughty thoughts, then said, "I completely forgot---I've got an orgy to preside over in three nights."

Before Strife blinked he was crouching over Cupid, one hand fisted in soft golden hair. "Think again, babe." He tugged Cupid's head back, wanting to lick the long arch of throat exposed. "You're *mine*. Ain't nobody else gettin' under yer skirt."

He blinked again and gave a little "Oof" as he sprawled among the cushions. Cupid was leaning over *him* now, hand planted flat against Strife's heart and doin' that sexy growl. "Fuck you, Strife." He pushed off and stood, arms crossed and wings jerkin' as he prowled the room. "Just 'cause I *preside* over the things doesn't automatically mean I *participate* in them."

"Ya don't?" The shock kinda, well, shocked Strife right outta his grabby mood. "But---but you're the God of *Love*, for Zeus's sake!" Not to mention plenty pretty enough to get all the tail he wanted, magic arrows or not.

"Look, it's just not my scene, OK? Can we drop it?" Cupid turned and was lookin' out the doorway so Strife couldn't see his face, but the wings were still goin' and when two big white feathered clues are starin' ya in the face...

"What's the deal, Cupid? I mean, I know *I* never turn down those kinda fuckfests. Bacchus throws a rad scene and those Bacchae are usually all over a guy, y'know?" He scrambled to his feet and braced, then mentally smacked himself in the forehead for gettin' so twitchy around a god with *no* powers and kitted up with Heph's kinky cuffs.

"Yeah, well your mom's not known as the slut of Olympus." Cupid shrugged. "Or at least she *was*, 'til Heph. Kinda puts you off the whole idea." He shot Strife a glance over his shoulder and Strife thought he saw some blush on those cheeks. For sure Cupid was now starin' at his floor like the tiles held the illustration from a Theban porn scroll.

"So you just...don't?" Strife was havin' a hard time picturing a hard-up Cupid. Even if Cupid was the one throwin' the bar on the bedroom door.

"Nah, I mean, it's not like I *never*---well, most things." Cupid was *definitely* red. Strife had to bite his lip to hold in a snicker---and keep himself from tacklin' Cupid to the pillows. Strife had *some* sense. But it was pretty temptin'.

"What does that mean, exactly?" Strife really wanted to know. He just wasn't getting that Cupid was a god who was OK with not getting any.

"I never wanted to pull a Zeus---y'know, a dozen half-mortals running all around Greece." Cupid drifted back to where Strife was still standin' tryin' not to gape. "And most of the gods are like, my *mom's* age or her exes or just...not my type. So Psyche's the only one I ever..." He shrugged again. "So mostly when it's my turn to host the Lovefest I just...let folks put their votive motives where their mouths are."

"Huh." Strife gave it a thought or two, but then shook his head. "Nope, you're still off-limits to all non-Strife personnel."

"Whatever," Cupid said and hunkered back down with his scrolls. When Strife settled down beside him, Cupid looked over and said, "Y'know, maybe we should just start with the whole Love spiel." He straightened his back, wings lifting as he declared, "Love is like a rainbow---"

"Temporary and insubstantial?" Strife just couldn't resist.

Cupid glared at him, and Strife couldn't help thinkin' a grumpy Cupid was a sexy Cupid. Something about a scowl really worked with that hint of stubble. Dude didn't even need the leather to do that whole "macho god" thing.

Strife made a "go on" gesture and sat up to put on an "interested face".

Cupid eyed him for another beat and then kept going. "I mean Love comes in a ton of different shades---variations, y'know? Like the way a parent loves their kid isn't the same thing as the way a Spartan loves their city or a newlywed loves their spouse---or an old married couple love each other when they're like, *old*. But in another way all Love is the same: It kinda takes you outta yourself, makes ordinary stuff special, the way a rainbow changes a regular day."

He shrugged. "Of course, Love is always around, too, the way colors are. It's just that most of the time folks aren't payin' attention."

Strife frowned. He was *trying* to understand---he really was. The way Cupid talked, Love was like, everywhere and everything but super special, too. He gave up. "I don't get it."

Somehow Cupid's sigh didn't sound all that surprised. "Well, yeah, that's why we're in this mess."

That stung. "And what about you, 'Mr. God of Love an' Passion'?" Strife sneered as he scrambled to his feet. "You an' Psyche were closer than the halves of a hermaphrodite. What happened there, huh?"

"None of your fuckin' business." Cupid came to his feet in one leap, wings wide, and the way he suddenly *loomed* made Strife remember the stories of a green-eyed monster lurking inside Cupid's handsome package. But the next breath and Cupid seemed to deflate, his wings coming down and his fists unclenching. He shook his head, then met Strife's stare, voice quiet as he said, "Sorry...this isn't exactly how I planned to spend my day."

*That* caused the damn tickle to start up again, so Strife just shrugged off the apology. He stooped and stretched to snag another scroll from Cupid's pile. When he came up he passed it over. "Maybe we should just get back to it, huh?"

"Yeah, I guess." Cupid took the offering, arched an eyebrow. "House of War got this much scrollwork?"

Strife laughed. "Nah, only the baddest asses got the balls to hit up Ares for a favor."

Cupid snorted and his lips quirked with the hint of a grin, and how *that* made Strife feel better he just didn't have a clue. But it did.


	4. Chapter 4

Strife *really* wanted to shoot something. That was one of the perks of hangin' out with Cupid, right? Shortbows, crossbows, longbows, even darts. The guy was supposed to spend all damn day firin' those magic arrows.

Except not. Cupid had put his sandal down and pretty much nixed the idea of Strife touchin' any of his weapons. Instead it'd been "field work"---followin' up on the petitions collected on the scrolls. Basically Cupid had Strife zippin' them to every two-shack "city" in Greece so Cupid could see the folks in the scrolls up close and personal, decide if they should get paired up with the ones they were yearning for. Or if there was a Mr. or Ms. Right---or Right Now---in the vicinity, for the horny Greeks who wanted to bare their gifts but didn't have a playmate for fun time.

But this was the last one. Strife leaned against the weathered wooden post of a nearby stall in the mid-sized market square and squinted at the little Miss in question. A scarecrow of a weaver's daughter, tall and scrawny and plain, the fine threads she wore hangin' like sackcloth.

Her brown cow eyes---doe eyes, if Strife was bein' polite---spent every second not with a customer mooning after the strapping young blacksmith. And yeah, the guy'd give Adonis a run for his money, with a curly black mop atop a face that would have the Nymphs sighin' and a bod that had muscles on top of muscles.

"He's not for her." Cupid's call was matter-of-fact and he was already turnin' away, but somethin' stirred in Strife's gut and scritched its way through his head.

He scowled as he stared at the, OK yeah, mismatched would-be pair: Mr. Universe and Ms. Scarecrow. So, not everybody was glam and grand, but that didn't mean the plainer folks just wanna be tossed aside like a moldy roll. And it shouldn't matter a flying fig to Strife who got the not-quite-country mouse hot under the collar, but there it was. He was already bristlin'. "Whaddya mean?"

Cupid's brows rose as he glanced at Strife, then back at the mortals before waving a hand and saying, "Isn't it obvious?"

Only one thing *was* obvious to Strife. "So she's not good enough for a looker like him, huh?" And Strife looked at the guy and looked at the gal and looked at Cupid and remembered the last time he looked in a mirror and somethin' just went snap.

Before Cupid could get a word out the weird and wild fried through Strife's mind and he was grabbin' Cupid's arm and yankin' him in close. Next breath they were zippin' back to Mount Olympus.

***************

Strife's aim was perfect: They landed in Cupid's bedroom. At least that's what Strife guessed, goin' by the cream and brown decor that echoed Bliss's room and the distinct lack of other gods.

He snarled, "Not one word," then yanked Cupid by the grip on his arm and slung him forward to land face-down on the bed.

But Cupid was no slouch. Before he crashed his wings were spread and he was liftin' to hover near the ceiling. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" He lowered a little but still kept outta reach. "C'mon, Strife, cool it. You don't want to do anything stupid."

Strife had had *enough* of gorgeous gods who decided lesser beings were stupid or incompetent or ugly or just "not worthy". Dark or light, War or Love, they were all the same, poking fun at Strife and playin' cock tease with their promises of godhoods and good times but in the end they always left him aching. "I said 'Shut up'." He may not be able to stick it to Ares, but he'd show Mr. Golden Sex God just who called the shots *here*. "Bands," he called. "Put him on the bed. Hands and knees."

Cupid gave a strangled squawk as he plunged down faster than Icarus, landing at the edge of the bedding. His wings flapped *hard* but he didn't budge. He jerked, limbs straining as he tried to scramble to the floor or roll away, but he was held fast.

Right where Strife wanted him. Yeah, this time *he* was gonna land on top in the god tussle. This was one time Strife was not gonna be the one tossed aside. After a long look at Cupid struggling Strife strolled over and laid a hand on Cupid's back. The skin was warm through the cloth, warmer still after he made the duds vanish with a thought. His own went bye-bye in the next moment.

Cupid was still playin' hard to get, tryin' to strain away from him. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because I want to." Strife called up a handful of oil and smeared it on his cock, stroking roughly. "Because I can." He then reached between the sweet cheeks to prod at Cupid's opening; it was clenched tight. His free hand dug into the top of Cupid's shoulder. "Come on, quit with the Vestal Virgin routine. You know you're gonna enjoy the ride."

"Just stop, Strife, *please*." Cupid was panting now, wings trembling, muscled body gleaming with sweat. "You're not thinking clearly. This isn't Love, or Passion."

Strife leaned in to whisper his answer in Cupid's ear. "You're right, it's War." Stroked his hand along the line of collarbone to wrap around Cupid's throat, leaned down for a lick and breathed in---

And stumbled back, shakin' his head as his mind gibbered and itched. He recognized that smell, the acrid tang that overlaid the salt-and-honey scent of Cupid's skin. Knew it from every battlefield he'd ever been on: fear. He shook off whatever haze had gripped him. "You don't want this."

Cupid's voice was a little shaky. "Of course I don't." He turned his head, eyes wide and dark as he looked at Strife around the rise of one wing. "Are you done with the crazy for now?"

"Yeah...yeah I guess." Strife stretched forward, felt Cupid's skin shiver under his touch as he laid a hand on one of the ankle bands. "Let him move."

Cupid scrambled around until he was kneeling on the bed in front of Strife, breath calming and hands movin' to hide the goods. It made Strife think about coverin' his own, which was pretty much Flop City now. But instead he just ducked his head and stared at his bare bony feet. What had got into him?

"Maybe you should let me go." Cupid seemed to get over his shyness, lettin' his hands fall to his sides as he slid to standing and rested a hand on Strife's shoulder.

Cupid's hand was warm---Strife felt so cold. An' scrawny an' pale an' ugly next to all that muscled golden flesh. "I can't." He knew what would happen the second he took that collar off. Cupid would be gone so fast he'd be leavin' a trail of feathers worse than the Nymphs' last pillow fight.

He could feel Cupid's stare, but a sigh and squeeze was the only reply. Then Cupid reached for Strife's hand and tugged him toward an archway. "Come on...we both need to get cleaned up." He shrugged. "You'll have to fill the tub, though."

Strife knew he could get the wash, fluff, and fold done in a blink, but wasn't about to lift that little finger. He let himself be led through the doorway to a bathing chamber glowing with the evening light. Coupla couches and chairs, high table with two pitchers and basins, long one with a mirror behind it and stools in front. Few cabinets and unlit braziers and lots of plants. Deep sunken tub with a wide ledge halfway down and a set of steps leadin' in. It was big enough for a real pool party, but Strife had the feeling that no orgies went on here.

Cupid dropped Strife's hand to walk over to a cabinet to pull out drying sheets and a dish of soft soap. He set them by the side of the tub and beckoned Strife forward. "Uh, water?"

Strife had kind of zoned out on the scenery---the mesmerizing one walkin' around in the altogether. He blinked and came to stand by Cupid. Waved one hand, fillin' the tub to the brim.

Suddenly Cupid chuckled, but Strife didn't mind it---the sound was quiet and warm and...he didn't know. Cupid shook his head. "You didn't hear about Archimedes' super streak, did you?" He looked over at Strife, eyes gleaming soft golden-green-brown. "If we get into a full tub it'll be Swamp City in here with the flood."

"Oh." Strife wanted to smack his forehead. At least he wasn't embarrassed about bein' in the buff anymore---he was too busy bein' embarrassed at bein' stupid. "Not really a bathtime kinda guy."

"Oh." Cupid's forehead wrinkled up in a cute way. Then he shrugged and said, "Well, could you just fill it to the ledge? We don't have a lot of time and I don't want to get my wings wet."

"Um, sure." Another wave and the water sank down.

He giggled when Cupid held onto Strife's arm to stretch one long leg down to dip a toe in. But he kinda wanted to...glow or grin or somethin' when Cupid drew back, gave another smile, and said, "Perfect."

Instead he just shrugged and ducked his head again, lettin' himself be led down the steps and into the warm water. He found himself staring again as Cupid dipped up water and a bit of soap, rubbed it into a lather and started a brisk wash, handsome face and long bitable neck, wide shoulders and muscled arms and a chest that begged to be fondled and abs that wanted to be licked and nipped...

And the next breath Cupid was done scrubbing his hair and did a shallow glide in the water, wings up and spread stayin' dry as the rest of Cupid slid by like a golden shark. He came up right in front of Strife, raising one dripping hand to slick his rinsed hair back.

"I need to know, Strife: Are you gonna freak out again?" He looked pretty damn serious as he laid wet hands on Strife's shoulders. "I won't have Bliss here if it isn't safe."

Strife could feel his face heat, knew the flush would be super-obvious on his too-pale skin. Ares would so be sneering right now, how Strife was such a wimp he couldn't play the tough guy with a god whose only power at the moment was twistin' Strife up in knots. "It won't happen again."

And it wouldn't. As used to blood and rage and death and brutality and *War* Strife was, somethin' about that scene had freaked him out. He leaned in, relieved that Cupid just smelled like honey and sunshine and...Love. Wimp or not, Strife never wanted to smell fear on Cupid again.

Cupid's hand on his jaw brought him up to meet Cupid's question. "What set you off?"

Strife was acutely aware that Cupid's other hand had come to rest on Strife's ribs, thumb strokin' a little in a way that Strife figured Cupid wasn't even aware of. But it was nice. Really nice.

He definitely didn't wanna go into his whole "it's complicated" spiel and the stuff with Ares and Little Miss Scarecrow and all so he just shrugged. "It won't happen again."

"OK." Cupid let go and moved back to the dish of soap left by the stairs. Strife knew Cupid wasn't goin' far and it shouldn't've been such a big deal but right then it was and he was really glad when Cupid glided back up to him and put a hand on Strife's shoulder. When Cupid pushed Strife went down without a sound, under the water to take a peek at the bottom half. Yeah, it was as pretty much perfect as the top, with those long long legs and slim hips and wow talk about a weapon layin' between Cupid's thighs.

A hand slid under his armpit and hauled him back up. Strife just stood there drippin' as Cupid worked up another lather and then started washing *him*. And those strong hands weren't callused at all and were so very warm and knew just how much pressure would make Strife's skin tingle and his thoughts turn into the happy buzz of bees. "Uh, y'know you don't have to, uh..."

Cupid just looked at him and said, "I know." Strife wondered if you could get addicted to a smile. Then his eyes closed and his head went back and he *groaned* because Cupid was workin' his shoulders and it felt so good. He felt himself gettin' hard again as Cupid washed his arms and pecs and scrubbed palms across his belly and ribs.

There was a brief pause and from the sounds of movin' in the water Strife figured Cupid must've reloaded. Magic fingers sank into his hair from behind, working down to the scalp and out to the ends and Strife felt like his bones would melt and he would just float away...

Then his head was falling forward as Cupid laid hands around his neck and squeezed a little and rubbed a lot and worked his way along the shoulders and down Strife's back. All the way down, every muscle bein' massaged into submission.

Then Cupid was pushin' on his shoulder again and Strife went down for a rinse. When he came up Cupid was standin' by the dish of soap. At the curl of Cupid's fingers Strife drifted over and let himself be tugged down to sprawl on the steps. Except he wasn't exactly sprawling, not when he was so nervous about what Cupid was plannin'.

It didn't take long to figure out. One at a time Cupid lifted Strife's legs out of the water and soaped them up, settin' 'em back down to rinse off when he was done. And then Cupid fixed those eyes on Strife and pinned him in place as Cupid reached his still-soapy hand to where Strife's half-hard cock rested just above the lapping of the water.

And Strife groaned again at the strong slick grip that worked up and down, up and down with a little twist that had him lifting his hips to thrust. Strife felt like he couldn't breathe, couldn't blink or he'd find out this was just some dream sent by Morpheus to torment him.

But it was real. He knew it by the way his body hitched into each of Cupid's strokes, how Cupid's other hand clasped his thigh for balance. And he was fallin' into the colors pooled in Cupid's eyes as he finally got a breath to shout and shot what felt like the biggest load he'd ever had in his *life*. Just from a handjob.

He couldn't wait to find out what the rest of the lineup would be like.

Strife blinked a few times and breathed a few times and came to his senses to see Cupid still watchin' him with that soft smile. And Strife found he had to smile back, even though he knew when he did he looked more like that goofy Joxer dude than ultra-cool Ares.

Strife's eyes shot down and he was kinda relieved that Cupid was doin' a salute under the water. "Lemme do your back and legs."

Cupid's mouth tucked in a moment, but then he sorta relaxed all over and nodded. He stretched to reach the soap dish and pass it over, then knelt on the steps next to Strife, mostly out of the water, wings lifted.

Strife slid a wet hand down the long length of Cupid's spine. He wanted to keep goin' to that very fine ass, but didn't want to blow the moment right after he'd blown his wad.

So he soaped up and worked both hands up one gorgeous gam and then the other. Then keepin' the rump to just a little patty-cake he moved up Cupid's back to his shoulders. Grinned to himself the whole time at how Cupid's wings kept jerkin' whenever Strife hit a sensitive spot. There were a *lot* of those, all over. Figured that a God of Love would be one big erogenous zone. He cupped water in his hands to pour down sleek skin, careful not to dampen the walls of white feathers that seemed to close him into his own little world.

When he'd resoaped he ran his hands along Cupid's flanks, then drifted close to get a hold of Cupid's cock. *Hot* and silky-hard in his grip. He almost groaned himself when Cupid wrapped a hand around Strife's to pick up the tempo.

Strife set his face into the crook of Cupid's shoulder, just breathed Cupid in as Strife jerked him off. And then Cupid shouted and bucked in Strife's arms, once, twice...then leaned back, restin' his weight on Strife with a sigh.

A few quick scoops of water rinsed Cupid off, and Strife swished his hips around a sec to make sure he was clear of goop too. As they stepped out of the tub Strife felt another tickle in his head, but before he could tense up he recognized Hephaestus askin' if it was OK to drop off Bliss.

Strife snagged a cloth and began wiping down. "Bird Boy's comin' home to roost."

Cupid looked up from dryin' his legs. "I never asked: Are you OK with having him here? It's not gonna cause any problems, right?"

"Nah," Strife said with a shrug. "I always figured you two were a package deal."

"OK. Could you, um, dress us again?" Cupid straightened. "And could you wear something different? I mean, not leather?" His cheeks were gettin' red. "Bliss is just a little, uh, too fond of the stuff so I'm trying to limit his exposure."

Strife snickered, picturin' Bliss decked out in leather gear. "Guess I shouldn't mention my whip collection then."

Cupid's eyes went wide. "You don't really have---"

"Gotcha." Strife laughed and waved Cupid into sandals, loincloth and a chiton, this one deep green. For himself instead of a chiton he chose a robe fuddy-duddy enough to keep Hera happy. Black, though, 'cause he was still badass. And he cleaned up their mess and emptied the tub. "OK Heph, ready when you are."

It was only after Heph and Dite blipped in with Bliss that Strife thought about what Cupid might say. After all, everybody knew how Aphrodite doted on her first-born and Heph could pretty much drop-kick Strife into the next millennia, not to mention Heph's caves full of shiny pointy things that could give new meaning to the word "bristly".

He kept a nervous eye on Cupid but the Wingman was keepin' like a clam about that little incident in the bedroom. Bliss was fussed over and held high to giggle and squirm and flap little wings and basically look adorable. When Bliss was back on Cupid's hip, Heph and Dite were thanked and sent off with a minimum of fuss.

Before Strife knew it, the other gods had gone and he was bein' stared at by a disappointed-lookin' Bliss. "Nope, no leather. Better luck next time, kid."

"Leaver." Bliss pouted and popped his thumb in his mouth. His other hand clutched a wooden toy Strife remembered from the morning.

Cupid shook his head with a laugh and ruffled Bliss's curls. "No leather for you. Just dinner, playtime, bath, and bed." He looked up at Strife and tilted his head toward a door. "The table's a few rooms that way. Could you zip up the stuff from the Athens altar, and some roast lamb and vegetables or something? Nothing too fussy---*or* too messy."

"Yeah, you got it." Strife trailed after the wing twins as Cupid headed for dinnertime and Strife for probably one of the more unusual evenings he'd ever spend.


	5. Chapter 5

Cupid smiled as he stroked gentle fingertips along Bliss's brow. It had taken longer than usual for Bliss to wind down, not surprising with Strife on the premises. But finally his cherub was tuckered out and off to dreamland.

He stretched, arms and wings spread wide as he arched his back with a quiet breath. When he brought his arms down, the cuffs on his wrists flashed in the torchlight. Cupid was very aware of all of them, binding his powers and even his body to Strife's will.

It'd been a way-too-close thing, earlier. Yeah, Cupid knew that Passion, like Love, came in many varieties. And that sometimes gods and mortals alike enjoyed games of capture and conquest. But he also knew that what Strife had almost done had nothing to do with desire.

But Strife had stepped back before he crossed the line, and strangely enough Cupid's fear of Strife had disappeared almost immediately. Cupid frowned and lifted a hand to rub fingertips against the leaf pendant, along the etchings on his collar. It rested loose about the base of his neck, but he knew he couldn't just tug it off and fling it far, far away.

No, only Strife could free him. And until Strife tired of him or fulfilled the requirements of the gods' spell, all Cupid could do was try to keep life as normal as possible. For Bliss's sake as well as his own.

He turned to where Strife stood by the far wall, staring up at the stars. He pitched his voice low but to carry. "Strife, can you douse the fires in here? Just leave one small oil lamp lit---Bliss doesn't usually wake up in the night."

His request was like, already done by the time he finished speaking. Along with all the clean-up that was needed in the wake of getting Bliss ready for bed. It was sweet, the way Strife tried to please. It was also kinda weird, for a wannabe God of War and all. Strife had delivered Cupid's scroll of instructions to the priests and priestesses, whipped up a scrumptious dinner for three, kept Bliss giggling the whole evening playing games and making up silly stories about shadow figures he projected on the walls.

By the time Bliss was ready for his bath, he was completely happy to have Strife help out, by filling the small scallop-shell-shaped tub in Bliss's room with mounds of bubbles and learning how to clean and preen the tiny white wings that were showing the signs of a busy day.

Cupid sighed and shook his head. It was hard at times to remember that Strife was a killer and a willing disciple of the worst element of War. A cold-blooded murderer who destroyed Hercules' life when he took Serena's. Cupid couldn't make that knowledge match up with the personality that Strife revealed: brazen yet shy, zany yet kind.

And standing there drenched in the moonlight, to Cupid's eyes Strife was more than handsome, more than beautiful. Something ethereal the gods had fashioned to personify the night.

Shit, when did Cupid get a type?

He'd always figured he was just picky---and super-careful not to go for one of his mom's leftovers, which for a while there had really narrowed the field. There weren't too many times in his life when interest took that little jump past attraction to real want and need. First Psyche, and now...

And sure both of them were slender and smooth with dark hair and big blue eyes. But if that was all it took, Cupid would've tumbled Xena a long time ago. No, there was something more to it...to them.

And Cupid was in bigger trouble than he'd thought.

He straightened his shoulders. He could deal with this. He *would* deal with this---by just not thinking about it so he didn't freak out. A few steps brought him to Strife's side. He rested a careful hand on Strife's back. "Ready for bed?"

Strife nodded, followed, and waited in the hall as Cupid closed Bliss's bedroom door. Cupid didn't say anything either, just tilted his head. Strife fell into step with him, and they walked across the wide corridor in silence.

Cupid pushed open the door to his room. Saw Strife fidgeting, and realized Strife had had a long stretch there without tics or jabbering. It was kinda strange to think of Strife quiet and still, and it made Cupid wonder how much of the spastic routine was for show. "You coming in?"

Strife gave a jerky nod and skittered past him. Cupid followed and leaned a shoulder against the closed door a moment, watching Strife roam around the room, lighting lamps and *not* looking at the bed. "Strife, are you OK?"

That brought him up short. The robe Strife was wearing settled around his frame as he looked to be pondering. Then those blue eyes fixed right on Cupid. "Can I ask ya somethin'?"

"Um, sure." Cupid walked over to the chest at the foot of the bed and sat down to untie his sandals. "Let's just get comfy first, huh?"

He kicked off his shoes and undid the belt and clasp of the chiton, sliding it off and leaving it draped over the chest. He left the loincloth on---he wasn't putting any moves on Strife, no way. Even if he'd admitted to himself that maybe he kinda wanted to. The situation was bizarre enough, and they'd already done the "shared passion" for today.

When he turned back to the bed, he found Strife hadn't moved. Cupid gave a mental shrug and sat down on the edge of the mattress, angling one wing forward. He started preening the feathers, which were showing signs of *his* busy day.

He didn't freeze or jerk when he felt the bed shift and fingers begin combing and straightening the feathers at the wing base that Cupid always found so hard to reach. "So what's your question?"

For a while Strife just kept up with the grooming, first one wing and then the other. Finally, he asked, "Why didn't you call for help when, uh, y'know? Or give Heph and Dite the lowdown when they popped up later?"

Cupid finished up the other wing and let them relax, twirled a loose feather in his fingers. "Well, I knew what they'd do to you if they found out...and I didn't want to see you hurt." He twisted around to meet Strife's eyes. "I guess I just...hoped you wouldn't go through with it." He shrugged. "I wanted to give you the chance to stop. And you did."

Strife looked to be thinking again, from the absent way he waved away his robe and sandals and slid under the covers. Cupid set the feather on a table next to the bed and got in as well. Odd to have to keep to one side of the mattress. Psyche hadn't been around long enough for sharing to become familiar. Although his wings were flexible enough to let him sleep on his back, he slid onto his stomach. Crossing his arms on top of the pillow and rested one cheek on them as he stared at Strife. "Can I ask you a question?"

Strife mirrored his position, then shrugged as much as he could. "Shoot."

"Why are you here? I mean, there are a ton of gods and mortals and you're *War*, y'know?" Cupid shifted a thumb to point at himself. "So...why me?"

"Well, besides the obvious---I mean, the *really* obvious." Strife grinned, then his face slid to thoughtful. "I guess...it was how I heard you stood up to your mom and all. And that you stuck by Psyche when Dite made her ugly and *old*. Someone like that...I guess I figured it'd be nice to have somebody like that. And since you were available..."

"Uh, Strife..." Cupid shifted, trying to find a way to say what he needed to without giving away things that he hoped would stay secret. "I just---I just think you should know..." He moved around until he was sitting cross-legged. "There's stuff---stuff that happened with Psyche that..." He grimaced. "I'm not that nice a guy."

Strife leaned up on an elbow. "OoooKaaay, but I dunno..." His eyes narrowed and he tilted his head. "Why couldn't the Scarecrow have Mr. Muscles? She's got it bad for that blacksmith."

Cupid leaned back a little; he couldn't connect the dots on the follow-up question. "Well, it was obvious: While she was mooning over the blacksmith, the potter two stalls down was staring at *her*."

He smiled a little at what he already knew of that shy young man's heart. "And he'll love her as the blacksmith never could, will honor and care for her all their days." He lifted his shoulders. "She just needs to get over her crush and she'll love him, too. They'll be, like, super happy together."

"Oh." Strife looked kinda surprised at that. And kissable, with his eyebrows practically meeting in a really cute little frown.

Cupid frowned as well, and reminded himself that he'd made enough of a MESS the last time he'd actually done the whole Love thing. And it would be a really good idea not to notice Strife's frown or his smile or his quirky sense of humor or those big blue eyes or *anything*. He quickly slithered back under the covers. On *his* side of the bed. "Good night, Strife."

"G'night, Cupid." There was a question in Strife's tone, but Cupid was *so* not going there.

************************************************************

Strife sighed and flopped to his back. The ceiling of Cupid's bedroom was a washed-out gray in the predawn. He just lay there, thinkin' about the last day.

The gods had kinda done him a favor by jinxin' him...on his own he wasn't sure he'd've ever gotten up the nerve to *talk* to Cupid, much less end up in bed with him.

He didn't think he was any clearer on the whole Love thing, though. He didn't even really understand why Cupid had been so cool about it all. If somebody'd ambushed Strife that way, he was pretty sure the guy or gal wouldn't have eyeballs anymore, magic bondage gear or not.

The door opening got his attention, but it wasn't Bliss slidin' through the gap. It was...him. And this Strife was gigglin' and his eyes were gleamin' like the wicked curved blade of the dagger he held in his hand. And he was walkin' real quiet across the floor to Strife's side of the bed.

Strife wanted to yell, or throw a fireball at the crazy look-alike or for fuck's sake *twitch* so he could at least wake Cupid to call for help. But he was pretty much one of Medusa's garden decorations as far as the movin' around was concerned. So he just had to watch as Other-Strife came closer and closer and raised up that really rad knife and plunged it right into Strife's chest---

"Fuck!" Strife bolted up, heart pounding. But there was only one Strife in the room, and no daggers stickin' out of anyone anywhere. "Shit." Morpheus again, the twisted fucker.

Strife settled back onto the pillow, then turned on his side so he could watch Cupid sleep. Blondie'd ended up on his back, which meant there'd probably be more wing work this morning. And Strife had no idea why he was buzzed about gettin' his hands back in those masses of white feathers, but there it was. Not the most surprisin' kink, considerin' who he'd picked to be his fuck buddy.

And though Strife had pictured Cupid all shoutin' and writhin' on black sheets back when he'd first got the idea, Cupid all still and just breathin' quiet on white ones was pretty nice, too. Lips had just the tiniest hint of that smile that made Strife sigh every time he saw it. Morpheus was probably sendin' Cupid *sweet* dreams. With no daggers or extra Strifes anywhere in sight.

He slid just the littlest bit closer, so he could feel the heat radiatin' from Cupid's bod. Cupid shifted and one arm slid out from under the covers, the cuff on it and the collar gleamin' as the day got brighter. And Strife was tempted...*so* tempted. He could tell the bands to spread Cupid wide for Strife to feast on, a little nosh before breakfast and suddenly Strife was feelin' mighty peckish...

But he pulled back before his hand made contact. Cupid had been really OK about not freakin' out over everything that happened yesterday. And so Strife felt like he kinda owed the Wingman, even though if Ares was around he'd probably be tellin' Strife to go for the gusto and ditch the Goody Two-Boots routine.

Shit. All this lovey-dovey sweetness an' light was rubbin' off on him already.

"Hey." He poked Cupid in the arm, not tryin' to be gentle about it. "Rise an' shine, babe."

"Wha'?" Cupid rolled onto his side, practically nose-to-nose with Strife. And Strife was glad the collar thing didn't interfere with Cupid's not havin' morning breath, 'cause they were *that close*.

Then Cupid's eyes drifted half-open, and Strife thought they were sleepy molten gold, just like the rest of Cupid he could see in the soft light of morning.

For a few moments they just stared at each other, and then Cupid seemed to register exactly *who* he was bunkin' with. His eyes snapped wide and he lurched up a lot like Strife had just a little bit ago. 'Course his eyes tracked the flash of the cuffs and his face settled from surprise to "oh yeah, right". He shook his head and flapped his wings, lifting one arm to scrub at his hair. "I thought I dreamed it all."

"Nope." Strife would usually be chatterin' with the nerves and the what ifs, but this mornin' he just laid there and enjoyed the view as Cupid dropped his arm, closed his eyes and tilted his head back, workin' it from side to side. Probably gettin' his mental shit together.

Bull's-eye. When Cupid opened his eyes this time he looked like "fucked up" was back to bein' Greek to him. "I think Bliss is gonna be up soon. Strife, can you freshen us up and my clothes?"

Strife could feel air on his bottom lip and realized he was pouting. He'd been lookin' forward to some mornin' bathtime. "Oh, uh, yeah, I guess I could do that." Did that mean...? "Uh, even the wings?"

Cupid nodded. "It'd be super great if you could. We're really cuttin' it close---"

As if on cue, Strife heard "Daaaadddeee!!!!" Sheesh, what a setta lungs on that kid. At least thanks to Heph's pendant---and Cupid's wince---he knew Cupid got an earful, too.

Strife waved both of 'em cleaned and combed and dressed, Cupid back in white. He was tempted to shorten Cupid's hemline by a coupla handspans, but decided he didn't wanna waste time with an argument. If it took too long Bliss might start yellin' again.

He tossed aside the covers an' hopped outta bed to turn to the door when he heard, "Oh. Uh, Strife?"

Strife looked back to see Cupid eyein' his outfit, and not in a "You're too sexy for your shirt" kinda way. "What?"

"Could you, um," Cupid gestured with his hands, "kinda tone down the leather quotient? Just 'til Bliss is dropped off with Psyche for the day." He shrugged. "I don't want another battle with Bliss over his wardrobe, y'know?"

"Oh." Strife looked down at head-to-toe black leather with, he had to admit, a *lot* of metal riveting and more'n a few tiny spikes thrown in. It was what he wore every day, and he couldn't really picture himself out of it---well, *in* something else. "Uh, what did you have in mind?"

"Well..." And now Cupid had folded his arms and put one hand on his chin and was lookin' at him, *really* lookin' at him, like, all over. And Strife had a hard time not squirmin' 'cause when Cupid wanted to he could really *look*.

Then Cupid gave a firm nod and dropped his hand to curl around his other elbow. "Chin silk shirt would do it, I think." He looked again. "Dark blue, or moss green. Oh---and maybe ditch the gauntlets and the metalwork, at least on the threads?"

With the cheekbones and the chin and that barely-there eye-slant Strife had always thought Cupid kinda looked like a big golden cat. So how could he do the puppy eyes so damn well? "Fuck." Strife waved his hand and let Mr. Makeover have his way.

But he picked a *red* shirt, thank you very much.

Cupid's smile wasn't much of a consolation prize, but it was kinda consolatin'. "Thanks, Strife."

Strife just shrugged and followed Cupid across the hall.

***************

Two tiny hands were curled over the top of one sidewall of Bliss's bed. The tips of white wings and honey-brown curls and big blue eyes showed for a moment, then disappeared. And showed, and disappeared. And showed, and disappeared.

Strife chuckled as Cupid dashed over to the bed with a "Quit bouncing, Bliss."

Bliss squealed and jumped up, wings flapping as Cupid reached out to catch the half-naked godling. "Gotcha."

Strife giggled the same as Bliss as Cupid clutched Bliss against his chest and looked in dismay at the bed. "I guess those walls will need to be made higher. His wings are getting stronger every day."

"Too bad you can't just keep him in a Bird Boy cage," Strife said, and laughed again at Cupid's horrified look. "Just kiddin'."

Cupid's grin back was a little sheepish. "I've actually considered it." Then he let his arms relax so Bliss had a little breathing room. Cupid lifted Bliss and leaned in to press a kiss to Bliss's forehead, one to each cheek, and dropped a last one on his nose. "Good morning, Bliss."

"Mornin'" Bliss wrapped his arms around Cupid's neck and squeezed, then dropped his arms, flapped his wings and settled back in Cupid's hands, turnin' to eye Strife. " 'lo," he said with a little wave.

"Hiya," Strife said and waved back.

Cupid pivoted and shifted Bliss to his hip. "Could you whip us up some breakfast? Porridge with a little honey and cream, some fruit, peeled boiled eggs, and some ambrosia, and water and milk?"

"You eat all that right after you get up?" Strife felt a little green just thinkin' about it.

"Yeah, Bliss won't eat his ambrosia unless it's mixed in with a bunch of other stuff." Cupid tilted his head toward the door and Strife went first to open it up.

"Hmph." Strife was tempted to say "wimp". For sure *he'd* never been indulged like that. You ate what was put in front of you or there'd've been Tartarus to pay. Still, Bliss seemed an OK little guy, so it couldn't be doin' him too much harm. And if it kept him from screamin' again...

He had the table set an' all before they sat down. He watched as Cupid carefully spooned ambrosia into the bowls of porridge, then cut up some dates and figs into Bliss's and stirred the whole mess together. "You gonna eat this yourself, Bliss, or do you want me to help you?"

" 'Self," Bliss insisted as he picked up his spoon and banged it on the table once for emphasis. He pulled the bowl toward him as Cupid tied a napkin around his neck. It completely covered Bliss's naked chest. The godling tucked in with a hum.

Strife snickered when Cupid made the same sound as he dipped a spoon into his own porridge. Hearing it, Cupid looked up, lifted a shoulder and gave an embarrassed little chuckle of his own. "You get used to it."

Eh, why not? Strife picked up his own bowl, and it wasn't half bad after he threw in some dates and nuts and called up another dollop or seven of honey. And at least the eggs went down easy enough. "So Bliss is headin' over to Psyche's?"

"Yeah, but not right away. We, uh, usually have some playtime and a story before Bliss gets washed and dressed." Cupid took a sip of water. "I thought since it was all like, Love biz yesterday, I thought maybe we could get some of your stuff done." He shifted in his chair. "Or you could, y'know, drop me somewhere if you don't want me to come with."

"Oh." Strife felt that weird glowy thing again at the idea that Cupid might want to hang with *him*. "I mean, no, er, yeah---it's OK if you tag along."

"Cool." Cupid said with a nod. " 'Cause I don't wanna like, cramp your style or anythin'."

"Nah, nah, it'll be great." And Strife laughed as Bliss tried to shove a whole egg in his mouth and thought it was all pretty good already.


	6. Chapter 6

Strife leaned in close to Cupid, voice low. "See the really big dude in the purple turban? He's the stooge."

Cupid nodded, and Strife gave his arm a little squeeze of encouragement before they separated. It was kinda neat havin' an accomplice. And Cupid had done a pretty good job of helpin' to stir up mischief without givin' the game away. Like now---the tavern was really crowded with the dinner rush, but Cupid was careful that nobody banged into him or brushed his wings. Though the illusions Strife had set that made them invisible would probably hold, it was cool that Cupid was makin' sure he didn't spoil the fun.

They made their way over to where Giganto was standin' wavin' his hands in the air as he argued with the tavern owner. Of course, Purple Turban's temper hadn't been improved with all the little things goin' wrong in his life today: Findin' bugs instead of currants in his porridge, his pants splittin' when he bent down to get on the pot, a stack of baskets in the marketplace landin' on his head, and so on...poor guy had really had a rough time, and he was ready to blow.

A nearly-as-big guy in full leather gear who looked a *lot* meaner was nearby leanin' on the bar. *That* was the mercenary Ares wanted spanked. Seemed Leather Man had made promises of offerings an' all for help defeating his rivals. Ares had delivered, but this guy hadn't. So Ares was lookin' for a little payback.

One of the serving wenches wandered by with a tray full of full goblets. Strife gave the signal and jerked Purple Turban's arm so that it swept the goblets off the tray. Cupid tapped Leather Man's shoulder, makin' him turn just in time to get a face full of brew.

Leather Man roared and leapt at Purple Turban, probably thinkin' he was all badass and anybody who wore a purple turban wasn't. Boy was he wrong. Giganto picked up the merc like he was a sack of wheat and proceeded to turn him into flour, all the pent-up anger of the day finally findin' a very convenient outlet.

Strife whistled as he led the way out into the street. Cupid caught up with him in two steps. "That guy's getting the shit punched outta him---he's gonna be OK, right?"

The sound of wood breaking had Strife glancin' back over his shoulder. "Should be. Ares wouldn't wanna have to book it to Tartarus to say 'I told you so'."

"Oh." They took a couple more steps before Cupid said, "Y'know, you can really pick your moments."

Despite the sudden mind-blank Strife had the sense to turn down a deserted alley before stoppin'. "Huh?"

"Well, I mean, you're really good at making the situation work for you---like when you had the sewingwoman leave a needle in the guy's pants," Cupid said. "You made sure it wouldn't prick him until he was way out of range and couldn't go back to vent."

Cupid shrugged. "I just, I never really had a clue how or what, y'know, you *do*. For me, all the heavy work is checkin' out the people before time, figurin' out who should go together. After that it's mostly point and shoot." He gave Strife a sidelong glance, but Strife couldn't shake the feelin' that Cupid might be lookin' closer and seein' clearer than anybody ever. "It'd be cool to kinda nudge folks into Love. It might take a little longer, sure, but it seems like it would be...fun."

Strife straightened his shoulders but ducked his head a little 'cause he thought his cheeks might be just the tiniest bit red. Before he could reply, though, Ares was in front of them and he had that "I'm pissed and goody you're *right here*" look in his eye. "You're late."

"I'm sorry," Strife started to use the "simmer down" gesture and then remembered it only seemed to work on Love Gods. "Yesterday I got kinda distracted."

Ares snorted and gave Cupid a once-over. "Yeah, I can see why." He took another, longer look, then his bearded lips curled in that motherfucker smile. "Nice skirt."

Strife could see Cupid's wings lifting and his nostrils flaring, found himself slidin' to block Ares' view.

And was kinda surprised to see Ares givin' *him* the eye as well. "What Strife, you dressin' up for Lover Boy here?"

Strife looked down and remembered he hadn't changed back into his full leathers after they'd dropped Bliss off. Well no wonder he forgot, what with Psyche stammerin' an' starin' an' all but snatchin' Bliss an' slammin' the door in their faces. *Awkward*. Well fuck it, he wasn't gonna change his outfit *now*. He lifted his chin. "I'm gonna need a few days off."

"For what?" Ares glanced at Cupid again and rolled his eyes. "Never mind, don't answer that. Anyway, that's a no go on the no show. I have plans and you have work to do."

Strife tensed when Ares put a *friendly* hand on Strife's shoulder to steer him down the alley and away from Cupid. "You did such a good job on the Hind that I'm thinkin' there are some more folks who need early-morning visits."

Ares stopped and gave Strife a slap on the back that had him lurching forward a step. "God of Assassins is up for grabs..." He spread his hands. "You get with the program, and you could be up to your ass in prayers and tribute."

That damn tickle was back in Strife's head, makin' him frown. "Yeah right, just like the heaps of stuff I got for helpin' you with that plot to take down Hercules, and the time with the arms dealer before that, and that Spartan warlord---"

"Strife, Strife, you're not seeing the big picture," Ares chided. He got a hand back on Strife's shoulder, the other framing a view. "Just imagine it: shrines, temples, acolytes, commemorative tattoos, your face on every scroll proclaiming a meeting of the Assassins' Guild..."

"I'll think about it." Strife blinked; where did that come from? He was risking a godhood, and it was a primo gig. But Ares hadn't actually ever *named* the spot he was reservin' for Strife before now, so maybe it *was* better to play hard to get---at least for a little while. "I'll think about it," he repeated.

"Huh." Ares gave him an odd look. "You feelin' all right?"

"Yeah, yeah, I just---I just need a few days to consider my options." Strife didn't wanna have to explain why he had a big winged blond shadow at all of his jobs, and he was so totally *not* OK with just droppin' Cupid off somewhere. Who knew what kind of trouble a powerless Cupid could get into---and with *whom*.

"Is that what you're calling it?" Ares took another gander at Cupid, and Strife automatically looked, too. Cupid had his arms folded and was still standin' in the alley lookin' completely gorgeous and extremely fuckable starin' after them. "Fine, Strife, gimme a call when your other head is back drivin' the chariot." A shower of golden sparks and he was gone.

Strife took his time walkin' back to Cupid. "Well, that was weird."

"You didn't tell him about...?" Cupid was lookin' a little anxious as his fingertips touched the collar.

"Nah, no need to worry about that. These lips are sealed." Strife pulled up short. It *was* kinda odd, how he wanted to keep the whole scenario under wraps. He should've been on a rooftop or two, crowin' about how he'd schemed his way into the Wingman's bed.

But he didn't want the "scheming" part to leak out. It was kinda nice havin' Ares think Cupid would go for Strife, like it was his own idea. "Ready to head home?" And funny how he automatically meant *Cupid's* place...

"Sure." Cupid's hand was warm through the silk as he grasped Strife's forearm. Strife laid a pale hand on top of Cupid's tanned one and let 'er rip.

************************************************************

Strife gave a full-body stretch, then let himself fall into a seat on the one couch with an actual back. He was takin' a break from playin' chess with Hephaestus, who'd turned out to be a pretty sneaky strategist. Then again, Hephaestus *had* come up with the collar and cuffs...

Thinkin' about those automatically made his eyes lock on Cupid, who was helpin' Bliss build somethin' out of smooth-edged metal pieces Heph must've given the kid. Aphrodite was kneelin' next to them cooing at Bliss. The two older gods had dropped Bliss off (somethin' about Psyche bein' busy, yeah right) and invited themselves to dinner. And stayed for playtime. Strife would've guessed it'd be super awkward, but Cupid had been cool about pickin' talk topics Strife could be part of. It was almost like he was *interested* in what Strife had to say.

Bliss squealed and bounced on his bottom as he smashed his structure to bits, startling Cupid and Aphrodite into laughter. In the lamplight all three of them *glowed*...so *nice*, and so damn beautiful...

"I still wake up sometimes and think it's all a dream." Heph sat down next to Strife, scarred hands folding together as Heph leaned forward to rest his elbows on his thighs.

Strife looked over. With shadows hiding the scars that marred one side of Heph's face, the dude was a lot better lookin' than you'd first think. And Strife still didn't get the whole Love gig, but he'd seen the way Dite and Heph looked at each other all through dinner. The adoration vibe was so strong it made him wanna hurl.

But he knew what Heph meant. Who'd've guessed that the stodgy God of Fire would be the one to make Aphrodite wanna end her guy-huntin' and baby-makin' days to stay home nights? "Yeah."

"You probably hadn't heard this, but I trapped Aphrodite once," Heph looked over. "Before we got together."

"Yeah?" Strife wouldn't've guessed Heph had it in him. After all, the whinefest Strife had listened to had been *because* Heph couldn't work up the balls to get face-to-face with Dite, much less get it on with her.

"She came to me---all dressed up like Hercules and trying to be the hero---heroine." Heph smiled as he looked at Dite. "She made the mistake of sitting on a throne I'd made that had a few...modifications."

"Cool." Strife could see Heph doin' *that*, makin' the situation work for him. And Dite did seem the type to go for the costumes.

"But I let her go, Strife." Now Heph's eyes were fixed on Strife, and Strife could see the flames dancin' in their depths. "Before we ever did anything, I let her go."

Strife rubbed his temple, wishin' he could reach right inside and scratch that damn itch 'til it was finally *gone*. "But by then you'd figured out she'd stay, right?"

"I hoped, and dreamed...even an ugly god can dream." Heph shrugged. "You don't need to do this---you're not ugly, Strife."

"But it's more than just the looks, Heph." Strife started bouncin' one leg. "You two are Love and Fire, yeah, but you're also Beauty and Artistry: you *match*."

Strife flipped onto his side, not wantin' the others to hear. "You've seen what happens when Love an' War get together. Ares and Dite were off an' on for *years*. Super-quick flings an' a coupla brats, that's *it*. Nothin' that ever lasted."

He looked down. "And the God of Love and the God of Assassins..."

"God of *what*?" Heph had leaned up when he gave his little shout, and now *everybody* was lookin' at Strife like he was a total *freak*.

"Assassins." Strife stood up and crossed his arms, glarin' them all down. What did they know about wantin' to have somethin' of yer own, somethin' you'd *earned* and not just been born with? And he was *War*---what was he supposed to be God of, Puppies and Butterflies?

And why did it twist his gut to see Cupid frownin' at him but not in a sexy way, but with a worried/disappointed look that Strife wanted to smash off that perfect face. Fuck it---fuck *him*.

His fists clenched, but instead of pullin' back for the blow he just zapped himself out of that damn Love nest and back where he belonged.

************************************************************

Strife blinked and stared up at a ceiling that shouldn't've been smooth and pale and glowin' with dawn. It *should* have been dark and carved and dim with the narrow wall slits that kept out most of the light.

He'd bounced all around Greece for a while, startin' a brawl here, a knife-fight there. It wasn't 'til long past moonrise that he'd finally crashed in his room in Ares' pad on Mount Olympus. Warded his space enough so Ares wouldn't drop in for another little chat.

Though why he didn't wanna have "the talk" when he was all riled and willin' to toss in with Ares' plans made no sense to him. Maybe he was finally gettin' smart, to know better than to do any negotiatin' while he wanted to rip heads off.

Still, that didn't explain why he was back in Cupid's bed. *Maybe* Heph or Dite could've slipped through his shields to zap him to Cupid's for sleepytime, but Strife doubted they would *want* to. They'd be more likely to leave him in his own bed, and just set it on fire or somethin'.

Strife looked over to see Cupid on his back, tiny frown line between his brows. Before Strife could poke him, the door opened and Strife Number Two---or was that Three?---strolled in like he was just takin' the grand tour.

This time Strife felt his stomach clench as he sat pinned like he was wearin' a set of Heph's cuffs. All he could do was watch as this new Strife sauntered in and headed straight for *Cupid*. And there was the same dagger, all polished and pretty and the light shinin' on it as it rose and fell and kept right on goin' until it was hilt-deep in Cupid's chest, blood welling up around it to slide along golden skin until it reached the curve of the ribs and started drippin' onto the sheets, one...red...dot...at...a...time...

"No!" Strife lurched forward and jerked himself back. He *was* in his own room, and Morpheus was so gonna get his pasty white ass kicked as soon as Strife figured out how to not dream for the rest of his immortal life.

As he settled back, he realized that it wasn't only itchin' inside his skull this time. He shifted on the sheets, his skin practically ripplin' with the build of anxious turned to wantin' and---fuck!---he needed---needed---Cupid...*now*.

***************

By the time he zapped into Cupid's bedroom---and he and the Wingman *really* needed to have a talk about security---Cupid was up and prowlin' around, his whole body vibratin'. The moment he clapped hungry eyes on Strife he was leapin' forward with a flap of wings---

"Oof." Strife managed to blip in a pillow pile to ease the landing as they started goin' at it right on the floor. Good thing they were both already naked, 'cause Strife needed the skin-to-skin and bet Cupid did too. They slid together, arms and legs wrappin' around each other and rubbin' and hard cocks already slick and pushin' at each other. Strife reached around, scraped his fingers down Cupid's back from just beneath the wings to the curve of killer ass as he felt Cupid's teeth pinch his neck and *fuck* this was good.

Then Cupid lifted up on his elbows and pressed his palms to Strife's face and held him still. They stared at each other, pantin' an' already flushed an' sweaty, Cupid's eyes huge an' dark an' glitterin' before he swooped down and planted his lips on Strife's.

And Strife's gasp of shock pretty much gave Cupid the "all clear" sign 'cause he was deep into the spit-swap before Strife could blink. But he could moan, and he did 'cause Cupid could *kiss*---hot and wet and tongue everywhere and fuck those lips were as pillow-plump and soft as they looked.

Strife grabbed one ass cheek and sank the other hand into Cupid's hair, not pullin' him off the kiss, just gettin' a grip. He feet scrabbled through the pillows 'til he found the floor to brace and thrust, archin' his body to rub all their fun parts together.

Cupid groaned agreement and shifted to press his thigh against Strife's balls, just enough to make Strife's eyes roll with the pleasure-and-just-a-smidgen-of-pain. His world went a little dark, but then he blinked and realized Cupid's wings were open and pulled forward like some kinda arch, blockin' some of the light and movin' just a bit in time with their fuck.

Strife howled down Cupid's throat as he came hard, feelin' his seed hot and slick spreadin' over their bellies and groins as Cupid moaned and spilled just as quick.

They both rolled to the side, chests heavin' and Strife could see they were a gloppy mess. But it wasn't enough, 'cause his skin was still shiverin' and he *needed*.

Before he knew it, he had flipped around and had Cupid's hips tight between his hands as he started lickin' at the mess coatin' Cupid's skin. Yes! This was what he wanted, their tastes mingling on his tongue. He made some kinda sound when Cupid's hands squeezed his ass and brought him forward to lap at Strife as well. And fuck if that pleased hum Cupid gave didn't sound familiar...

Strife was workin' at the thin skin of Cupid's balls when a whimper caught in Strife's throat and he jerked. Cupid had taken Strife's soft cock into his mouth and was playin' with it like some kinda toy, battin' it from side to side and skimmin' his teeth on the oh-way-too-sensitive ridge and slidin' back to rub his lips over the slit before takin' it back in for more fun.

A growl sounded in Strife's chest as he slid down---up?---and sucked in Cupid's length, which was already twitchin' with interest. This *was* kinda fun, cock a little more bendy than the usual and he could feel the blood flowin' back in to get things hot and hard again.

He slid his hands around to pet at the skin around Cupid's thatch, feelin' the shivers as Cupid moaned. But then Strife felt Cupid start to *hum* again, this time around Strife's cock, and Strife gave up all hope of anythin' except groanin' and thrustin' as deep down Cupid's throat as he could go.

Even though it was the second round in like, no time at all, Strife knew he wasn't gonna last long. But he wanted Cupid's seed, wanted to taste it again and feel it pourin' down his throat to finally sate the want/need/must/lust that was still shiverin' through him. So he reached behind Cupid's balls to find that sweet piece of skin and pressed a knuckle to it. Felt Cupid jerk and his cock jump and then Cupid was comin' and it was hot and sweet and slick and Strife let himself go as well, just shovin' into the tunnel that kept squeezin' around him 'til he was spent.

Strife licked at Cupid's cock one more time, felt Cupid's mouth slide off his own with a last kiss to the tip. Cupid struggled up and crawled over the pillows to sprawl on his stomach at Strife's side with a sigh.

One hand was out and strokin' Cupid's back before Strife even noticed the smooth golden skin under his fingertips. Strife swallowed, voice kinda rough as he said, "Guess Heph wasn't kiddin' about those cuffs."

Cupid just laughed.


	7. Chapter 7

Strife had felt like he'd been walkin' a knife edge all damn day. Or better yet, like Damocles' sword was hangin' above his head just waitin' for the chop.

He and Cupid had kept the day's chatter strictly to the neutral, neither one mentionin' what had sent Strife harin' out of Cupid's place last night and led to settin' off the anti-abstinence feature of Heph's cuffs.

After their morning rut, Strife had got them cleaned and dressed and they'd popped into Bliss's room just before the kid's wake-up yell. They'd had an OK morning with the tyke and an OK day dealin' with more scrolls and actually *shooting* people with stuff from Cupid's magic armory. Strife had tried to keep the coast clear---though he had to admit the other gods had nothin' on Cupid when it came to aimin' the pointy flying things. But Cupid was bein' extra-super-careful, afraid of a major Love screwup when he didn't have the powers to fix things if they went wrong.

A few times Strife had thought about pullin' a prank or *something* to get the two of them back to the way they'd been the last few days. His favorite idea---and it was too bad he hadn't had the balls to risk it---had been to zap away Cupid's loincloth while they were walkin' around invisible to the mortals. He'd grinned at the thought of Cupid suddenly bare-assed under his skirt and how many breezes Strife could detour to whatever patch of ground they'd be occupyin'.

But instead Strife had been a good little god, through pickin' up Bliss from the Muses to dinner through play-bath-and-put-Bliss-to-bed time.

He sighed as he watched Cupid strip down to his skivvies and sit on the bed to start workin' on his wings. At least Cupid didn't tense up or shrug Strife off when he knee-walked to Cupid's side of the mattress and started to help. "So uh, what was with the extra invitations to the orgy?"

Cupid made a frustrated sound and flung a loose feather onto the bedside table. "That weaver's daughter. She sent *another* plea for me to hook her up with the blacksmith. I'm figurin' it's desperate-measures time."

"Huh." Strife hoped whatever Cupid had planned for Ms. Scarecrow wouldn't be too drastic. He fumbled with the feathers for a moment as he tried to think of something else to say. "And, um, what about that last couple we darted? They were already married." Probably *forever*, from the wrinkled-up look of them.

From his spot kneelin' behind Cupid, Strife could just see the curve of his smile. "Oh, them. They've been married for like, forty years or something."

Cupid shrugged. "They're still in love, but kinda forgot what they meant to each other, with life and getting old and all. So I just darted them as a little reminder---" He looked back at Strife. "A little nudge to remember their Love."

"Yeah, but why?" Strife shifted back as Cupid slewed around to sit cross-legged on the mattress.

"Because the Fates told me one of them was going to the Elysian Fields soon." Cupid sighed and looked down. "I felt it when their love was born...I'll feel it when their love dies."

When he raised his head again, Strife had to swallow at the swirl of emotion in the green-brown-gold of Cupid's eyes. Cupid gave a small smile. "I just wanted the survivor to have some good memories to hold on to when they were alone."

Strife was itchy again, but it was just his head this time. But it must've scrambled somethin' in his skull 'cause the next breath he was in Cupid's lap. He wrapped his arms tight around Cupid and pressed their mouths together.

The kiss was more like a smoosh and Strife could feel his heart jack-rabbiting and breath hitching as he slid off the mouth-to-mouth to murmur "Fuck me" right in Cupid's ear.

***************

"Huh?" Cupid felt like he'd just fallen off Apollo's chariot and hit the ground with a solid smack. It didn't help that his body immediately understood Strife's request and had leapt into full arousal. His skin tingled and his face flushed, and he almost groaned as his nipples tightened to beg for attention. Not to mention the way blood rushed south as his cock filled and rose within the linen covering he still wore.

This was *so* not a good idea---in part because he *wanted* it, way more than was good for either of them. But was it what Strife really wanted? 'Cause yeah Cupid was constrained by Heph's collar and cuffs, but wasn't Strife too, by the gods' spell?

He cupped Strife's shoulders, doing his best to ignore the smooth warmth of the skin in his grasp. "Are you sure about this?" He tried to read the answer in Strife's eyes, but it was so easy to fall into the pools of blue...

"Yeah." Strife freed himself with a shrug and kinda held still. "That is, if, y'know, you want to."

"I want to, Strife." Looked like Strife wasn't the only one who couldn't lie. "You can be sure I want to."

Strife perked up that. "Cool." Strife gave him a familiar leer that somehow made Cupid feel better about everything. Then Strife called up a small stoppered vial and handed it to Cupid. "So, uh, how do you want me?"

"Lie down on your back." Cupid stretched to set the vial on the bedside table and picked up the feather. He turned to watch Strife scoot down until his head was on the pillow.

Cupid drew the covers away and smiled when he felt his own loincloth disappear at the same time as Strife's. He grasped Strife's forearms, and pressed a kiss to each inner wrist, where the veins showed against the fine bones. Then he pressed Strife's hands to the pillow. When he let go Strife kept them there.

He took a few moments to stare, at the way the lamplight leant a faint golden tint to Strife's pale skin. Strife was definitely Cupid's type, a bod that was slim but strong and on display just for him. And aroused, by Strife's panting and the way he kind of shimmied in place on the sheets like the flickers of lamplight were tickling his skin. And the way Strife's cock rose long and full and sheened by the liquid leaking from it. Cupid would swear it faintly twitched with every heartbeat.

Cupid twirled the feather once, then stretched out and settled onto one elbow, letting the feather brush along Strife's bangs, just skimming his hairline. Then a slow sweep across the brow, and down the slope of Strife's nose to tease at barely parted lips. "Do you know what I'm reminded of when I look at you?"

Strife swallowed and shook his head as Cupid brushed the feather over the bob of Strife's throat. He took his time, let the feather drift along the dip of collarbones and down toward the chest. In his leather Strife always looked like such a skinny guy, but he was no slouch in the Mr. Muscles department---they were definitely there, just not bulging out all over the place. Kinda graceful, really.

"When I was younger," Cupid mused as he teased one nipple, then the other, hearing Strife gasp as he ran the edge of the feather over the distended tips, "I used to escape sometimes, just fly away to the mountains. And I would stay there all night, with the snow and the moon and the stars and the blackness of the sky...I'd feel so peaceful there, that any problems I had couldn't be that big compared to all that."

His mouth quirked as he met Strife's gaze. "I guess thinking of that is kinda helping me not do a total meltdown over all this."

Cupid's own desire was thrumming in his veins, raging at the wall of patience that held things slow and steady as he tickled Strife's ribs and belly, then trailed down to circle the tip of the feather around the base of Strife's cock. He almost groaned himself at Strife's moan and thrust, and quickly brushed the feather's length against Strife's inner thighs before Cupid abandoned the game. He slid onto his stomach to reach the table, setting aside the feather and snagging the bottle of oil.

When he had it, he slid one knee between Strife's legs, then the other. He settled back a moment, stroking Strife's hip, staring down the length of hard hot, body to meet Strife's eyes, now dilated and glittering.

Cupid couldn't resist. He carefully laid down atop Strife, sliding his free hand into wiry curls to lift Strife's head. He breathed over Strife's parted lips, "Touch me," then leaned in for a kiss.

He caught Strife's gasp, exchanged it for his own moan as Strife's hands clutched his ribs, slid up and spread over his back between his wings. The lazy glide of their tongues against each other seemed like totally opposite to the desperate rub of their bodies. Cupid dropped the oil and moved his hand down Strife's flank to cup his ass and lift him into Cupid's movements, the heat of cocks and bellies and chests moving together making Cupid lose track of where his body ended and Strife's began.

So they just necked and rutted for awhile, until Cupid finally got enough sense to press his elbow into the pillow and lift a little. "You ready?"

"Fuck yeah." Strife's reply had Cupid grinning as he scooted back to his earlier position, taking the bottle with him. They were both much more sweaty and mussed than they'd been, and he was sure *his* cock was a lot harder---and probably Strife's was the same.

Cupid got the cork out and poured a little oil onto his palm, curling around his cock to *very* carefully coat it. He didn't wanna blow before he was deep in Strife. He tipped more oil onto his fingers, then stretched over Strife's body to put the bottle on the table on this side of the bed.

He spread his knees, and with his clean hand got a hold of Strife's hip to kinda tug him onto Cupid's thighs. Strife's giggle made him chuckle, and when he glanced up he was caught again by Strife's gaze. Keeping their eyes locked, he let slick fingers slide into Strife's cleft. Stroked the furled opening until it relaxed enough to let him work a finger in. He slid his other hand up Strife's belly to press broad strokes against his chest, just following the line of muscles.

They kept staring at each other as Cupid continued with the gentle pressure, sliding another finger in and making sure Strife was slicked up. Cupid wasn't sure he was breathing, but then he felt himself inhale when Strife did, breathed out the same. That kept going until Cupid finally pulled out and Strife made a muffled sound and his legs wrapped warm and strong around Cupid's hips.

Cupid leaned forward, hand-walking up the mattress until he was braced above Strife. He reached down with one hand to guide his way-ready cock into Strife. The breach made him gasp as Strife clamped down around him. He shuddered and held still until Strife gave a jerky nod and said, "Just fuckin' *fuck* me, already."

And they both laughed, breathy and quiet as Cupid slid home, but Strife's cut off with a gasp. Cupid began to rock in a steady beat, rolling his hips and grinning at Strife's jump and startled squeak. Glad to know his aim was still good. Then he leaned down as Strife leaned up and they were kissing again, and Strife's fingers were digging into Cupid's back on each downstroke and his sweat was matting the hairs at Cupid's groin and his cock was painting a slick stripe on Cupid's belly.

This was as good as it ever got.

But Cupid couldn't do slow forever, not with his balls drawing up and his cock desperate to coat the tight silky heat with his seed. Strife was going from digging to scratching, and the little spike of pain made Cupid thrust hard, again and again as he groaned his release.

He pulled away for a moment to stare at Strife's flushed, sweaty face, and could tell from the "oh, fuck *c'mon*" look and the frantic jerks against him that Strife was desperate to come. Cupid leaned his weight on one arm and wrapped tight fingers around the base of Strife's cock with the other. "Not yet you don't."

"Fuck! Cupid, I'm dyin' here!" Strife whimpered---actually *whimpered* when Cupid slid out, his spent cock leaving a smear on one straining thigh.

Cupid grinned at him and shook his head. "Just wait." He leaned over Strife's body to grab the bottle again, and dribbled the oil over Strife's *very* erect erection. Then Cupid slicked his fingers again before sliding the bottle back onto the table and out of the way.

When he slid his hand around to his own backside, he closed his eyes in relief. *All* of him had relaxed, so it was kinda easier than he'd figured to get a couple fingers in to slick himself up. It had been a *long* time.

And he hoped that it was enough, 'cause he'd never actually gone to the next step before now. He opened his eyes and fell into that deep blue---bewildered---gaze again as he moved to straddle Strife's hips. Smiled when Strife's jaw dropped as Cupid rose up, reached behind him to hold Strife's cock in place as he sank down on it...

And *fuck* that smarted just a little. Cupid breathed out as he felt himself stretch to accommodate Strife's girth. As he hit bottom he wriggled a little to get comfy and smirked at Strife's strangled gasp.

Gave one of his own as Strife's hands clamped on his hips as Strife's feet slid up and braced for a thrust that had Cupid's wings spreading wide as his back arched and his mouth fell open. Zeus, that felt so damn *good*...he wasn't even hard and he wanted more, wanted Strife as deep as he could go.

Cupid fell forward when Strife tugged on him, and felt Strife's fingers slide through his hair as he met Strife's kiss. Then there was just their breaths and their musk blending and their tongues sliding and lips meeting as Strife kept pressing up into him and filling him and clutching him close and then Strife screamed down Cupid's throat and came.

Cupid flopped onto Strife, feeling the seed trickle from his just-a-little-bit-sore opening as Strife's cock slid free. "Can you clean us up? 'Cause I'm, like, kinda wasted here."

"You an' me both, babe," Strife murmured into Cupid's hair. But Cupid could feel the tingle of power as they were magically wiped down and freshened up as the lamps blew out. He sighed and rolled off Strife to his own side of the bed again, on his back this time.

He was kinda surprised when Strife followed him, his arm ending up around Cupid's waist and one slim leg flung over Cupid's thighs. It was weird...but nice. "G'night Strife."

Cupid was asleep before he got a reply.


	8. Chapter 8

Strife sighed with relief as he woke and turned to see Cupid peacefully sleeping beside him, in perfect non-stabbed health. Maybe Morpheus was cuttin' him a break by not cuttin' anybody this mornin'.

Suddenly he was seein' Cupid's bod from the doorway. Strife's leather outfit shifted against his skin as he walked over to the bed, seein' himself sitting up and starin' with eyes that had the fear-shine in 'em. But he knew there was nothin' gonna stop him from puttin' this sweet blade to use.

So he took his time to look Cupid up and down and even cop a feel, 'cause it wasn't like Cupid would be wakin' up anytime soon. Or ever, once Strife was done with him. Nah, he was just a sweet little winged lamb Strife had to get outta the way...Ares said so. And when Strife did this one itty-bitty nothin' job for the Big Guy *he* was gonna be a big bad War God, too. All it would take was one quick strike---

"Cupid!" Strife's scream tore outta his throat as he scrambled away from the bed, the itching in his head a burning that made him want to scream again, keep screamin' and never stop. He didn't even care that he was just standin' there in the altogether as Cupid sprang out of bed too, lookin' around like somebody had set his wings on fire.

"Strife! Strife? What's wrong?" Cupid dashed up to him and the next thing Strife knew he was wrapped up in those strong arms and his head was tucked into the crook of Cupid's neck and he was breathin' in that honey scent while Cupid's hand stroked down his back. "It's OK Strife, whatever happened, it was just a dream."

Huh. Dite must've clued Cupid in about Morpheus' little role in this whole mess. "Yeah, I know." He let himself lean into Cupid more, and somehow all the horrible images and everythin' he was thinkin' just floated away. Even the burnin' itchin' in his head went back to that tickle.

"Look, since we're both up, why don't we just see how Bliss is doing and get on with the day? Get back to normal---whatever *that's* supposed to be right now." Cupid cupped Strife's face in his palms as he waited for an answer.

Strife just nodded, even though deep deep down he was afraid things would never be "normal" again.

************************************************************

Strife grinned and flicked his fingers, changin' Cupid's chiton from pure white to purple to orange to deep red to black and back to white again. It was like havin' his own life-sized Cupie doll. Though to tell the truth he liked undressin' it more.

"Strife..." Cupid growled a warning at him so Strife straightened up and took a look around the Athens temple. The Love vibes were rockin' the walls with the orgy in full swing. There were movers and shakers of all sizes, shapes and shades actin' out the stories on those Theban porn scrolls that the bards sure as Tartarus *never* read out loud. Good thing Bliss was dropped off with Psyche until tomorrow. The little tyke would probably be juiced up 'til midwinter if he got a whiff of the energy cracklin' around Cupid.

That blacksmith looked to be generatin' quite a bit, buried in the middle of a pile of fabulous femmes. He was bangin' one while eatin' out another and the ones waitin' in line were feelin' up anybody in reach.

Strife was glad he'd outlined the new "hands and mouths and all other body parts off Cupid" policy earlier. All the *eyes* followin' Cupid as he walked around spreadin' the Love were bad enough. Good thing, though, that the whole Love vibe was pretty much automatic and the collar wasn't hurtin' the flow any---for sure Cupid didn't wanna call his mom for help with an orgy.

Suddenly Strife caught sight of the Scarecrow. Gal was clutchin' one of the pillars, starin' as her crush got crushed by another babe jumpin' in. He winced at the way Scarecrow's mouth was workin' but nothin' was comin' out. He was rooting for her to go over and kick the handsome bastard in the balls, but she just turned around and booked outta there faster than Hermes with the runs.

But then some cute guy with frizzy brown hair leapt outta the corner to take after her. Strife walked over just in time to see Cupid plant a hand in the middle of this guy's chest, stoppin' him short. Must be the potter, from the way he kept lookin' over where girlie disappeared.

"Wait," Cupid kept sayin' 'til he was sure he had the guy's attention. "Right now she needs a *friend*. Just a friend---a shoulder to cry on and somebody to help her realize that she's not alone, or unworthy."

"She's not---either of those, she's not. She's everything." At the potter's declaration Strife held back a snicker; dude really had a case of the lovey-doveys.

"That's right...to you she's everything---and someday you'll be everything to *her*." Cupid eased up on the guy, slid the hand from chest to shoulder and started walkin' him to the exit. "But she has to figure that out for herself."

Cupid sighed. "She needs some time to grieve. Even if she's only lost a dream of Love, it hurts just the same."

Mr. Potter nodded so hard his hair flopped around and then he ran off. Strife nudged Cupid. "Guess you were right about him."

"Yeah. Putting her with the blacksmith would've been a disaster---like pairing a swan with a hummingbird." Cupid shook his head, blond hair gleaming in the lamp- and torchlight. "Those two are much better suited."

Strife didn't wanna know what Cupid thought about *their* mating. He didn't like the sudden image he got of a vulture with an eagle. Not a pretty picture. He shook his head and grabbed Cupid's arm. And wowza that was some kick of energy. "C'mon, I wanna show you something."

Cupid took a look around first to make sure everybody was havin' a good time---a *really* good time, from the moanin' and groanin'---and then let himself be pulled along to the main altar. "What do you need to show me up here?"

Strife grinned and called up a shield around the altar so nobody could see or hear them---he wasn't givin' anybody a free show. Then he spun Cupid around and shoved so Cupid had to grab the edge of the altar to catch himself. Strife slipped an arm around Cupid's waist and pulled him back half a step so he was leanin' at the perfect angle, legs spread just the right amount. He wrapped his other hand around Cupid's wrist and murmured in his ear, "I wanna show you how much fun these bands can be."

He then ordered the cuffs to hold Cupid still. With a sigh he let his hands drift up Cupid's arms, feelin' the soft skin over serious muscles. He leaned around a wing to lick a long stripe up a bicep to the shoulder with the clasp on it. Cupid shivered, head tossing as some sound caught in his throat.

Strife pressed himself to Cupid's back, lettin' his hands drift over Cupid's chest, one hand under the cloth and one over it. He rubbed his palms over Cupid's nipples, the calluses makin' Cupid squirm and lift into the touches.

He chuckled and let his fingers shape the small hard points, draggin' his nails around the discs. Then he pulled his hand out of the chiton to flick open the clasp that held it up, lettin' the top flip down over the belt around Cupid's waist. "Yeah, that's better."

Cupid panted and shuddered in Strife's hold as Strife let his hands drift down to the belt line to explore Cupid's flat belly and up again to grope all over, flanks and chest and movin' in tight to get a hand around Cupid's throat to feel the movement against his palm when Cupid swallowed.

But Strife's leather outfit was gettin' in the way. He should be able to feel Cupid's back pressed into him, get some of that sweat that made Cupid's skin gleam like gold. He was kinda into the whole half-dressed thing, though, it was dirty and sexy and *fuck* he had to rub his leather-covered crotch against Cupid's linen-clad ass. And he nearly lost it when Cupid pushed back into him, tiltin' his hips a little like he was beggin' for it.

Strife thought a moment, then changed the top of his outfit to Chin silk, all the ties down the front danglin' open so he had some skin-to-skin but also the silk thin and slick and hot as their bodies as he rubbed his nipples against Cupid's back between the wings.

But he needed more. Fuck, he needed everything. He brought his hands around to palm Cupid's ass, slid under the hem of the chiton to run his fingers along the silky thighs and hips up to the waistband of the loincloth. He could've waved it away but instead he burrowed his fingertips underneath, teasin' the thatch that surrounded Cupid's cock.

Cupid moaned again and pressed back against him, and Strife leaned in to lick the sweat from that long neck. Couldn't hold back his own groan as Cupid's head tilted to the side, makin' an offer Strife couldn't refuse. He settled in for a meal, letting his teeth press in as he sucked the flesh into his mouth. But he wasn't a Bacchae, so he didn't turn it into a bloodsport.

But it was gettin' him hotter and hotter and he worked the knot loose on Cupid's loincloth to let it unravel and drop away to the floor. Then he tugged his own pants open, his cock springing out hard and more than ready.

Strife looked at the altar, groped past Cupid for the dish of oil sittin' there. Got one hand dipped, usin' the other to lift Cupid's hem to get a look at where he was headed.

Fuck that was nice. He let his fingertips slide into the deep cleft between those perfect cheeks. Circled around the pucker, gettin' it good and slick before pushin' one finger at the tight hole.

Which gave around him as Cupid shoved his hips back again, lettin' Strife into silky heat. "C'mon, Strife." Cupid's wings were spread all the way out and up, like he was openin' up for Strife to get in as close as possible.

Of course Strife was more than happy to oblige. He shoved the cloth into the belt, makin' a mess of Cupid's outfit but leaving both Strife's hands free, one to glide oily fingers along his own cock, the other spreadin' out over Cupid's belly to hold him still. Strife took a deep breath, lettin' the scents of honey and sweat and sex fill him as he pushed in, feelin' Cupid stretch around him in a squeeze that made Strife groan and clutch slick fingers to Cupid's hip. "Oh fuck yeah."

Cupid's moan seemed to mean he agreed. Strife started to thrust, pullin' Cupid onto his cock as much as the cuffs would allow. 'Cause Cupid really seemed to be gettin' off on it, arms and legs braced but the rest of him writhin' against Strife like tryin' to get every bit of skin in contact. And fuck Cupid was sweaty and hot and golden and gorgeous and Strife just wanted to fuck him forever, just hold the moment and the surge of power all around and the want and need coiling in his gut takin' him higher than he'd ever been.

"Strife, please." Cupid sounded kinda desperate himself, and Strife let his hand drift from Cupid's belly under the cloth to run his palm along Cupid's cock, feelin' it jump at his touch.

But then he cupped Cupid's balls, slid around one straining thigh to circle his fingers around the place they were joined. "Nah, you can come from this, babe, I know you can. Just this." He surged forward again. "Just me."

"Just you---just you," Cupid panted, and the words made Strife growl and thrust harder, both hands grippin' tight at Cupid's hipbones under the bunched-up cloth. Leanin' in to set bite after bite along the Cupid's neck and the top of his back. Fuckin' markin' his territory. His mate...

And he bent his knees just a bit to launch *up* and into Cupid as deep as he could go. It must've hit Cupid just right 'cause he started howlin' and shakin'. Strife held him hard by the hips, made him stand still for Strife's thrusts and it felt like every time he pushed in he was pushin' out a pulse of Cupid's seed, feelin' the wet spread along the cloth restin' on top of his hands.

And then Strife was coming, screamin' 'cause it felt so good so right so fuckin' *perfect* and nobody could hear them anyway. And he felt like his balls loosed every drop inside them deep in Cupid's clenching hole.

Strife draped himself against Cupid's back, lickin' at the salt and rubbin' his face in the gathered sweat as they both just panted. Finally he slid a hand out to grab a wrist again and said, "Let him move."

He pulled out only 'cause he had to, otherwise he'd be balls deep in Cupid for the rest of fuckin' eternity. He managed to pull Cupid's skirt back down before he kinda flopped over to lean his back against the altar. He braced his elbows on the stone as he looked over at Cupid, who was sweaty and flushed and disheveled and somehow even more fuckin' beautiful.

The words were outta his mouth before he knew he was speakin' them. "Marry me." At Cupid's stunned look, Strife reached over and laid a hand atop his. "I know you're like, way outta my league and all, but I'll make Ares come through with a godhood for me---maybe not Assassins, if that's gonna get yer feathers ruffled---but somethin' and we'll be, I dunno, *even*." He took a breath. "I'll be---I'll be...worthy, I promise."

Cupid started laughin'. But it wasn't the kind that made Strife feel good---it made him tense up all over 'cause he'd only heard a sound that bitter from about-to-be-dead men on the battlefield. "Cupid?"

But Cupid didn't answer right away. First he slid his hand free and crossed his arms on the altar and laid his forehead right down. And didn't seem to care he was still bare-assed under the chiton with Strife's release tricklin' down his thighs.

After a moment that had Strife holdin' his breath Cupid finally said, "I didn't think I could sink any lower after that mess with Psyche. But I was wrong---you proved me wrong."

He turned his head so Strife could see his face, and somehow Strife knew the scornful curl of those heart-shaped lips wasn't directed at *him* as Cupid kept talkin'. "I don't know how you did it, Strife, but you've made me crave you---your kiss, your touch, your voice---just your *company*. How could that inane giggle of yours go from annoying to adorable so quickly?"

Cupid swallowed. "Part of me---a way-too-big part---wants to say yes. I want your breath against my neck when we sleep. I want to know you'll be there to wake up with me and get Bliss ready for the day and talk together when we get home and every stupid cliché of Love there is. I can't explain it or understand it, but I want you with me."

Strife was stunned, couldn't do anything but watch as Cupid lurched up to brace his hands on the altar again. But this time his shoulders hunched and his wings drooped and his face got sadder and sadder and his eyes got darker and darker and fuck it seemed like Cupid was feelin' the end of his whole world. Even his voice was rough as he said, "And I can't seem to make it matter that you have blood on your hands, Strife. Even though I know what you've done and that it's all OK with you. That you'll do it again, murder more innocents, destroy more lives, if that's what Ares wants---if that's what it takes to be high and mighty in the House of War, because that's exactly who you want to be."

He was kinda relieved when Cupid finally turned his face away to stare at the altar, even as his words kept comin'. "Well congratulations, War God: You've definitely made a conquest. I'm the God of Love and you've managed to make me hate myself."


	9. Chapter 9

Strife didn't even know he'd gone until he *was* gone, and standin' in front of Psyche's place on Mount Olympus. He tucked himself in and cleaned up with a wave, but he was in too much of a daze to bother changing his outfit again as he drifted up to the bronze-decorated doors.

But then he just stopped and stood there starin' for so long the night started gettin' that gray that came just before Apollo got the nags outta the gate. He *had* to know, but didn't wanna know. And the tickle in his head wouldn't let him leave.

He twitched when the door opened and Psyche peered out at *him*. "Uh, hi."

She didn't look surprised. Nah, she looked...beautiful, but that was a given. But also kinda uncertain herself as she gave him a once-over. "You’d better come in," she finally said. "But be quiet---I don't want Bliss up too early."

So Strife drifted in behind her. Nice place, airy and light and...serene. Not too much different from Cupid's---fewer plants and more sounds, flowing water and ringing bowls and soft chimes and stuff. Cushions and all of cream instead of dark brown.

Psyche drifted over to a high-backed couch and parked it, patting the spot next to her. He thought maybe he should blast her or somethin', but instead walked right over and plopped down. "I, uh, I got some stuff I gotta know..."

"Why we did it?" Psyche shifted, swivelin' and bringin' her bent knees up onto the couch. Strife couldn't bring himself to correct her, and just sat there as she launched into the whole spiel. "We didn't think it was right, what you’d done. You killed Hercules' wife, stuck a dagger into an innocent, powerless, sleeping, *mortal* woman, who'd been promised happiness with her husband if she gave up being the Golden Hind."

She looked angry for a moment, but it was about as threatenin' as a puppy. Then again, this little gal had already shown she had teeth. But her face went all guilty after that. "And yes, maybe Cupid was right that it was unfair to go after you when we couldn't touch Ares---but *something* had to be done."

Psyche laid a hand on Strife's arm, and he almost jumped to feel the heat of it through the silk he still wore. And *still* he couldn't get himself to say anythin'. She just looked at him with big blue eyes and Strife could kinda see what had snagged Cupid back in the day. She was...earnest. It was in every word she said. "Do you know you broke Hercules' heart, Strife? One of Cupid's arrows put Hercules in thrall to me, but his love for Daenera broke the spell."

She wasn't lookin' at him anymore, or anythin' except the past. "Can you imagine how much he must have loved Serena to set all that aside? What it took for him to love again? And now he's blaming himself for Serena's death...just like he blames himself for losing Daenera and the children."

Strife twitched again when her nails dug into him, her brows drawn and expression even more fierce than before. "And you've done more than that, Strife. You've condemned him to spend the rest of his life alone. Destroyed any future chance of love he had.” Sorrow collapsed her face into a frown. “Because Hercules will never, *ever* open his heart again. He won't risk anyone else he cares for being killed by the spite of petty, jealous gods."

She let him go then, and turned away, starin' down at her fidgeting fingers. "Maybe it *was* wrong, what we did to you. But..." She lifted her head and looked right at him. "We just wanted you to understand what it was Hercules had lost. What *you* took away from him."

"Huh." Strife couldn't think of anythin' to say to that. And even though he usually didn't give a flyin' fuck about "the niceties" and all, he couldn't seem to force the questions he really wanted to ask past the weird lump in his throat.

And besides, the itchin' in his head was fierce now, and he had to find Cupid. So he just stood up and zapped himself out.

***************

It was only when he popped up in Cupid's bedroom that he remembered he'd left the poor guy well-fucked and totally screwed in the middle of an orgy. But somebody must've come to the rescue, 'cause Cupid was starin' out the window all clean and tidy and dressed in his usual leathers. Well sorta. He couldn't wear the vambraces or boots because of the cuffs, and his leather pants weren't as tight as they usually were on those killer calves 'cause of the band of silver underneath.

And his feet were bare. Somehow that made Strife's gut twist in a funny way, starin' at those long perfect toes anybody could stomp on if they got mean or just careless.

Cupid looked over a shoulder at him, turned back to his contemplation of the view. "I called Heph for help." The shoulder rose, dropped. "Figured Mom would've freaked."

He lifted one hand to rub at his forehead, then crossed his arms and turned to look at Strife, gray instead of gold in the predawn light. "So where do we go from here?"

"Cupid, what happened with you an' Psyche?" Strife felt like he was missin' somethin', like if he could just get a hold of the last piece he'd get a clue how to put the mosaic together.

Cupid swallowed, looked away, looked down...then sighed and waved them over to a coupla backless chairs near a small table. Kinda fell into his own seat and stared at nothin', but finally braced his elbows on it and looked at Strife. "You know about my curse, right?"

Strife shrugged. "Yeah, it made the rounds. You feel jealous 'cause of unrequited love for a mortal and you turn into the Big Green Meanie."

"Yeah." Cupid's brows drew together as he stretched a finger to trace a pattern on the tabletop, eyes dropped to follow the motion. "And I was gonna be a three-time loser until Hercules convinced Mom to give Psyche a dose of ambrosia and let her join us up here for eternity and all."

Cupid's lips tucked in, then curled in the sneer that Strife had seen before. "I thought it was all happy-ending time. That I was home free curse-wise 'cause Psyche loved me back. But then I started to notice things...like how she was always so quick to go with whatever *I* wanted, but kept putting off the wedding. And remember things, like how she thought she'd been in love with Hercules, and how badly she wanted to be out of that hick town she was stuck in..."

He looked at Strife then, and Strife swallowed at the way Cupid's eyes dulled as he reminisced. "I was wrong...the curse wasn't an issue...but not because Psyche had come to love me."

Cupid shrugged. "Turned out I was let off on a technicality. I was no longer cursed, but only because Psyche---because my *unrequited love*---wasn't mortal anymore."

Strife blinked. And blinked again. What'd'ya say to that? "Bummer" just didn't cut it.

Luckily he didn't have to come up with anythin', 'cause Cupid wasn't done. His hands clenched into fists, knuckles showin' bone-white. "Thing is, it took me a while to figure out that Psyche was just playin’ along, tryin’ to please me, to keep her part of the bargain. And that all she really wanted was her freedom. And even after I knew...I didn't do anything about it."

Cupid lurched to his feet, kinda paced a little circle. And Strife still couldn't make a thought pop from his mind to his conveniently dropped-open mouth, so he was kinda relieved when Cupid finally stopped and looked at him again to admit, "I just kept hoping, y'know? That if I loved her enough and waited long enough it would all work out. But then Psyche told me she was pregnant."

He cleared his throat. "And that was all my fault...'cause I never told her how *not* to get knocked up and I think deep down even though we never got hitched I wanted to tie her to me, so she'd never get away."

Cupid crossed his arms again, but it was more a pathetic kinda self-hug than anything. "And it *finally* hit me---and I couldn't lie to myself anymore. Or keep pretending---pretty much forcing her to be with me...or even..."

He shook his head, lifted it. "The only thing I'm proud of in that whole mess is that it was Psyche's decision to keep being pregnant. 'Cause I told her she didn't have to...that I would let him or her go back to be born to somebody else. That I would let our child go...the way I let her go."

Strife felt like the tickle in his head had spread like some kinda super-itchy rash all over the inside of his skull and was somehow leakin' out his ears and runnin' down his throat and into belly and along to his fingers and his toes and this was *so* not that anti-abstinence thingamajig. He finally croaked out a question. "So you still love her?"

"I'm grateful to her for keeping Bliss, and I'm glad she's happy now and that we can be friends. But it can't ever be like I thought it would, like I wanted." Cupid sank down into his chair. "So yeah, part of me will always love her. But it's...it's like a different shade of the rainbow now."

He let his fingertips drift over Strife's hand, but pulled back again before Strife had time to react. "I'm sorry, but I can't be with you either, Strife. Not really."

Cupid sighed with all the sadness Strife had seen on him last night. “As much as I might...as much as we...I can’t make myself pretend that who you are and what you did---and *will* do---isn’t important.” He sat back, shoulders straight and head up. “I won’t do that again, make-believe that everything’s OK when it’s not...I have to be able to live with myself, y’know?”

And Strife did know, 'cause he didn't seem to have the luxury of lyin' to himself, either. He knew exactly what Cupid was sayin' and remembered all of what he'd done and realized what he had to do. This time he was the one launchin' onto not-so-steady feet. Cupid watched him, eyes wide, but chin up and braced for anythin'. Strife knew that Cupid was powerless, that Strife could deal any payback he wanted for the verbal slap-down Cupid just delivered. And it looked like Cupid knew it, too. And had said it anyway.

Strife's hand was shakin' but he managed to palm Cupid's cheek, slide his fingers down the firm jaw and that long throat that still showed a few red marks. *Love* bites. And then his fingers were curlin' around the collar that lay shinin' around Cupid's neck. "Release him."

Strife dropped the neckband as the sudden slack slid it into his fist, heard the cuffs hit the tabletop and the floor before he sent himself far away...

************************************************************

Well, not so far. He was still in Greece. First at Quallius' palace museum to snatch the Chronos Stone before the King of Thieves could get his sneaky paws on it, and now on a forest trail, waitin'.

But not for long. Hercules came around the bend, and Strife had a moment to notice how *ravaged* he looked. How dark the circles under his eyes were, before rage transformed Hercules' features and he started poundin' toward Strife.

Strife dropped to his knees, his free hand put out in a probably-useless attempt to hold Hercules off. "Wait, *please*."

He was wrong. Herc skidded to a stop just before tacklin' Strife, vibratin' in place and blowin' like a bull. His question ground out between clenched teeth. "What do you *want*, Strife?"

"To make things right." Strife knew he was babblin', couldn't help it. "I'm so so sorry about Serena---I swear I couldn't understand what all the fuss was about an' what she meant to you an' I just didn't *know*. I never knew it just wasn't real it was like somethin' for wimps an' then the others jinxed me an' Morpheus showed me the dreams an' Cupid...an' Cupid..."

He took a deep breath. "An' I just wanna make things right." He leaned forward and oh-so-carefully reached out for Hercules' slack hand, placed the Chronos Stone in it. "You can use this. We can go back in time an' save Serena." He could hardly make himself admit it, now. "You can stop me from murderin' her."

"Are you completely stupid, or just insane?" Ares' voice sounded around them just before he popped in under some nearby trees. "What in Tartarus are you thinking, Strife?" He looked them both over, then shrugged. "Actually, I don't care. I'll be taking that Chronos Stone, now."

Strife scrambled to his feet. Hercules closed his fist around the stone and said, "I don't think so, Ares."

"Heh," was Ares’ only reply before shootin’ a fireball straight at Herc. Strife wasn't even thinkin' about it, just launched himself in the way and took the blast, back slammin' into the dirt. He launched his own bolt. Not at Ares 'cause no matter what anybody said he wasn't stupid, but at the branches above Ares' head.

They came down with a satisfyin' crash and buried the fucker. Strife rolled to his knees and got a hand on Hercules' leg. "Quick---that won't hold him for long."

But Hercules was just starin' at the stone. "How far am I supposed to go back? The morning of Serena's death? Our wedding, so she never becomes my wife? Do I stop us from ever meeting?"

He looked down at Strife and the torment on his face made Strife flinch. "How can I, Strife? How can I save Serena but not Daenera and my children? Do I make it so my whole life with them never happened? Or do I go so far back I make sure I'm never born?"

"I'll second that one," Ares called as the branches on top of him shredded to toothpicks.

Strife launched to his feet and took up a kinda guard position, one hand fisted in Hercules' shirt. "*Now*, Herc."

"No." The answer was quiet. Strife slewed around to hear, "No, Strife, neither gods nor men should have that kind of power over time." 

Strife watched in horror as Hercules' hands pressed together, crushing the stone between his palms until it disintegrated in a burst of light.

"No..." Strife breathed as he lifted his eyes to Hercules' face. "But-but I was gonna make it right..."

"You can't, Strife. Nobody can. We just have to keep going on, as best we can. Live with our choices, and the consequences." But strange as anythin' Herc laid a hand over the fist Strife still had locked in his shirt. "But thank you, for this."

Strife let go with a jerky nod, but it wasn't enough. How could that be enough?

"Huh, thanks for *nothing*, Strife." Ares strolled over and gave Strife a sneer of total disdain, the kinda look that should've had Strife crawlin' like a worm to get back in Ares' good graces. Or at least his not-so-bad ones.

But Strife just stood his ground and lifted his chin. He turned his back on Ares, speakin' directly to Hercules. "I swear I'll never do another bit of dirty work for War again. Even if I never get a godhood, I won't destroy another life the way I did Serena’s---and yours."

Hercules just nodded slowly, but behind Strife Ares burst into laughter---not the nice cheery kind. "And how long d'you think that little vow will last, Strife? We got stuck with you in War because nobody but nobody else would have you."

Strife turned and stared Ares down, wouldn't bow his head or look away. Even if that was true, he could still choose his own way. He *would*. He already had. And this path was gonna lead Fates knew where, but it was the only way he could take and live with himself.

"Not all of War is underhanded and cruel, Ares." Athena appeared before them, along with Artemis, Aphrodite, Hephaestus, Psyche holding Bliss, Hades, Persephone, Morpheus, Hera----*Hera*?---and, Strife gulped, Cupid. Who was all kitted up includin’ his usual boots and vambraces and lookin' pretty badass as he glared at Ares.

Strife blinked when Athena stepped forward and *smiled* at him. He gave her what he was sure was a kinda sickly lookin' grin, but she just nodded and said, "You've fulfilled the gods' spell, Strife. You understand Love now, where before you knew only War."

Hephaestus lifted his hand, a very familiar collar restin’ in it. "Everything you did since that moment, even releasing Cupid, was of your own free will. Because you've changed."

Hera was avoiding looking at Hercules, keepin’ her gaze fixed on Strife. "And because of that change, Zeus will bestow upon you a godhood---if you want it."

Strife found himself figurin' there must be some *huge* catch. "Uh, why wouldn't I want it?"

"Because it's the kind of godhood that doesn't lend itself to grand temples and vast praise." Athena shrugged. "Much of the time you'll labor in obscurity, but you'll have shrines in every market square and hopeful prayers from both beggars and kings."

"And you'll have to give up your name, at least in the mortal realm," Psyche said, cradling a wide-eyed and surprisingly quiet Bliss. "Because Strife is a name designed to strike terror in the hearts of all. Instead you'd be known as Caerus, God of Luck and Opportunity."

Athena eyed Ares a moment before she explained, "Strife, mortals and immortals may honor or abhor you, but they will ignore you at their peril. For you will have the power to aid or thwart the plans of both gods and mortals."

"You have *got* to be kidding me." Ares looked around at all the solemn faces, then snorted. "Whatever." He disappeared in a shower of sparks.

Strife frowned, then looked at Hercules. "Would you be OK with this?" He held absolutely still under Hercules' stare as he waited for an answer. He felt like he owed it to Herc to decide his fate---kinda a life for a life.

Finally Hercules nodded. "Yeah, I think so."

Strife straightened up and looked at the other gods. Definitely *not* focusing on Cupid. "Then I'll do it."

Aphrodite called up a goblet and stepped away from Hephaestus to offer it. "Then drink up."

Strife gave her a look---he'd heard about her "innocent" concoctions---but took the thing anyway and downed it in a gulp. He felt weird, his skin tingling and some shifting and Zeus's voice boomin' everywhere. "Gods and mortals, behold: Caerus, God of Luck and Opportunity.”

When Strife found his feet again they were...lighter? He looked down and saw his boots had been replaced by sandals to accommodate the tiny but unmistakable *wings* at his ankles. He blinked. That would take some gettin' used to. He'd have to check with Hermes about some pointers. He was still wearin' leather pants but they were looser and ended a little higher, and his Chin silk shirt had turned pale blue with some silver threads worked in. "Huh."

A hand landed on his shoulder. "Congratulations," Herc said quietly, and then with a glance at the rest of the gods he turned and walked away.

Alone, so alone. Strife promised himself he'd never forget. And when he saw a chance, he'd try to send more friends Hercules' way. Give him some colors of the rainbow, at least.

Hera flashed out again without even a “Seeya,” but Persephone grabbed his wrist, leanin’ up to plant one on his cheek. “Good luck,” she said, then giggled.

Hades right behind was eyein’ Strife in a weird way, but finally nodded. “Somehow, I think you’ll enjoy life on this new path a lot...longer than the old one.” With an enigmatic smile he gathered Persephone close and they disappeared.

Then Strife was tensin’ up big-time as Morpheus gave him a nudge. “I guess I’ll have to go back to your regularly scheduled dream time, now that you’ve managed to fulfill our spell.” Then Morph’s expression turned stern, lookin’ like one of those busts of mean old men the sculptors were always makin’ down in the mortal world. “Don’t even *think* of pulling me into one of your schemes again.”

Strife didn’t get a chance to reply before Morpheus was gone. He blew out a long breath of relief at knowin’ those Nightmare Strifes were goin’ bye-bye.

Athena did her usual brain-piercing stare as she said, “You’ll be of the House of Intellect, but with influence over all. Use your powers wisely.” She shifted to her usual robes before zappin’ out. Guess she was done with the War gig for a while.

The others came up one at a time to offer their kudos and pop back to their lives. Strife had to giggle at the strangle-hug Bliss gave him.

But eventually it was just Strife and Cupid. Cupid gave him a small grin and said, "This is really great. I know you'll do a good job."

Strife rubbed the back of his neck. He sure hoped so. "You'll let me, uh, hit you up---for advice, right?"

"Sure..." Cupid looked like he was sensin' the "awkward" vibe, too. "Sure, no problem."

Strife groped around for somethin' to lighten the atmosphere. "Uh, ba---Cupid, why did Hephaestus only have the collar with him? What, um, happened to the cuffs?"

"Oh, the cuffs. Well..." Cupid shuffled one boot in the dirt as he hesitated, and Strife could see the hint of a blush starting. "Well I, um, I said I'd keep 'em. I told Heph if he destroyed the collar so people could get outta the whole bondage deal---if/when they needed to---folks might find the cuffs kinda, y'know, fun."

Strife took a tiny step closer, had to lift Cupid's chin to stare into those beautiful eyes and *hope*. "I know that we---this---was all fucked up from the start and ya didn't exactly volunteer for any of it so I'd understand if ya knocked me into next year, but...Cupid, is there any chance for us?" Because he *really* wanted that chance.

Cupid’s eyes widened. "I thought maybe with the spell done you’d want to, y’know, ditch the wimp who couldn’t handle bein’ with a God of War.” He swallowed. “Strife---"

"Caerus." Though he kinda shocked himself, his voice was very firm. He knew changin' his name wouldn't change his past, but...he was Caerus now. Strife wasn't a name he wanted to live up to anymore.

Cupid's forehead crinkled up in that cute way. "Are you sure? 'Cause to me you're still...you, and it's just the mortals who---"

"Yeah, I'm sure." Caerus shrugged, every moment more comfortable in this---in *his*---skin. "I don't wanna have to pretend, not with anybody. It just...feels right, y'know?"

Cupid's soft smile still made him want to sigh. "Yeah, I know," Cupid said and closed the gap between them. His hands rose up to frame Caerus's face. "I can only tell you that I still want you. And that I like you." He shifted a little closer. "And that when you’re not with me, I'll miss you."

Caerus lifted his own hands to rest on Cupid's shoulders, leaned in as well to breathe against Cupid's lips, "With a little Love and Luck, who knows where that'll lead?"

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are welcomed with great joy and constructive criticism is treasured as a rare gift.


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